Counted Among the Traitors
by WillowDryad
Summary: King Edmund the Just was once counted among the traitors, but now he is known throughout Narnia as a man of honor and truth, and the High King's trust in him can never be shaken. Or can it? Golden Age. No slash. Thanks to narniagirl11 for the great cover art!
1. Trumpery

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

*****SPECIAL NOTE*****

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** www .youtube. com (slash) watch?v=zw4jXOGtEmE**

**AND**

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** **www .youtube. com (slash) **watch?v=-TUOOipJP1o**

**They're both wonderful! Do watch them and let me know what you think.**

**(Don't forget to remove spaces and use an actual slash instead of the (slash).)**

TRUMPERY

Edmund urged his horse over the last rise, the thought of seeing home again the only thing giving him strength enough to press on. Four months. Four months since the gleaming jewel of the eastern sea, Cair Paravel, had come into his eager view, four months since he had left home behind him, and he'd hungered to see it every hour of every day since.

He had spent the summer battling renegade dwarfs and a ragged collection of Hags and Fell Beasts in Lantern Waste, an action that had been expected to take no more than a week or two. But the enemy forces had proved at least four-fold stronger than expected. Most of the army had gone with Peter into the North a month before, once again to put down a giantish uprising, and Edmund's troops had not really been sufficient for the task at hand.

They had fought on as best they could until, three weeks ago, Edmund had received word that Peter had been gravely wounded in Ettinsmoor. But the Falcon who had served as messenger had assured Edmund that Peter's campaign had been successful and that Peter himself had been brought home and healed with a drop of Lucy's cordial. So Edmund had resisted the urge to rush back to the Cair and stayed with his battered forces, enduring the heat and the lack of anything but the most basic comforts, enduring the ache of being away from home and family, enduring the fear that perhaps his stubborn, insanely brave brother was somehow not as well as he had been told.

Now he urged his horse down the last slope that led to the castle gates, pitying the poor dumb beast, pitying the near-silent soldiers that limped after him burdened with loss rather than buoyed with victory. And truly, there had been no victory, merely staggering casualties and a grudging retreat by both sides. Edmund's army had driven the enemy back into hiding at least for the time being, but that was the most he could claim. He would not be returning home to a hero's welcome.

It didn't matter. He would be returning home. Lucy would beam at him, near drowning him with joy just to have him back. Susan would fuss over him and at him, especially when she saw he had left his reasonably minor injuries with only minimal treatment. And Peter–

How Edmund had missed his brother. Missed him still. Despite Lucy's occasional martial ventures, the girls, and may it ever be so, didn't really understand what war was like, the fear and the pain and the guilt, the fierce, burning need to survive and thrive that drove blade and body beyond endurance. They weren't intimately acquainted with the shuddering emptiness it left behind once the fighting was done. Peter knew. Peter knew the sick terror that came afterwards in the choking darkness of the night. In the ten years since Beruna, they had shaken each other free from the icy grip of nightmares more times than either of them could count. They had wet each other's shoulders with hot tears and had both offered and received the comfort of strong arms and soothing words, proof they were neither of them lost alone.

In any campaign without Peter, Edmund tended to forego sleep almost entirely rather than risk being trapped, helpless within the horrors of his dreams. Now, at last, he was home. Now, at last, he could really sleep.

He felt a surge of fresh energy when he saw two willowy figures waving at him from the near tower. Well, the black-haired one in silver and violet was waving. The blonde, nearly as tall as the other, was bouncing up and down, the dagged sleeves of her crimson gown fluttering like gryphon feathers in the wind.

He stood in his stirrups and waved his cap, smiling more than he had since he had left home what must be ages ago now. Then he spurred his tired horse into a canter and headed for the courtyard. In another moment, he was hurrying up the steps up to the tower where he had seen his sisters, and he could hear them laughing and chattering as they rushed down to him.

"Edmund!"

A flash of crimson velvet and golden hair shot into his arms, almost bowling him over and back down the steps.

"Lucy."

He chuckled as she covered his cheeks and nose with light little smacking kisses, not minding that her grip on his upper arm was more than a little painful. He was home, and he was glad.

"Oh, Edmund. You're back at last."

She nestled against him, tucking her head under his chin, and he wrapped his arms around her with a sigh.

"At last, Lu. Sorry you're not happy to see me."

She giggled and looked over at Susan. "Told you so."

He raised one eyebrow at his older sister, and she gave him her usual serene smile, but there was an extra gleam of pleasure in it.

"I thought you'd finished growing, but Lucy was right after all. You are taller." She pulled him away from their younger sister and gave him a maternal looking over before kissing his cheek and gathering him into her arms. "You're still too thin, but you'll be as tall as Peter in time or nearly, I shouldn't wonder."

"I'm not thin, I'm wiry. Athletic. Tough." He laughed, knowing ten years of soldiering had put solid muscle on his lean frame. **"**And I'll never be as tall as Peter if I live to be five hundred. I've given up hope."

Her affectionate squeeze caught him off guard and he winced.

She pushed him back from her again, blue eyes narrowed. "Where is it this time?"

"It's nothing. Where's Peter?"

"Edmund."

He rolled his eyes. "I've been at war for four months, Su. Did you think I wouldn't be a little bruised up?"

"Your idea of 'a little bruised up' is anything short of a limb missing."

Lucy giggled and took his arm. "Give him at least five minutes peace before you start scolding, Susan."

Susan gave her sister a stern look, but her face softened as she took Edmund's other arm. "Will it please His Majesty to refresh himself before dinner?"

He smiled still, but his smile was tinged with uncertainty. "Su, where's Peter? The Falcon told me his wounds had been healed. He's not–"

"He's fine." She patted his arm and drew him down the steps and towards the corridor that led to their private chambers. "He's been busy, that's all."

"Oh." Edmund shrugged a little. "I expected he would be. Just, he usually– Well, I guess he has a lot on his mind."

"He wants to see you," Susan soothed. "He's just been working too hard, as always."

Edmund nodded, and Lucy squeezed his arm, snuggling against him. "We missed you. All of us."

He stopped to pull her close again, nuzzling a kiss into her sweet-smelling hair. Dear Lu. She was a badger when it came to those she loved. She hung on.

From somewhere ahead of him, there came a laugh, a rich, warm laugh, and he looked up. There was nothing but life and strength in that laugh, and Edmund felt some of his anxiousness ease. Bless Lucy and Father Christmas and Aslan, Peter was well.

His sisters exchanged a smile and both urged him down the corridor. With a grin, he sprinted away from them.

His grin widened when he heard his brother's laugh again. A small thing, a laugh, but he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it these months away. He hadn't realized quite how much he'd feared never to hear it again.

"Peter! Peter, I– "

He skidded to a halt just inside his brother's private study. Yes, Peter was there, golden and magnificent as always, hale and whole and obviously in good spirits. He was also not alone.

Edmund composed himself and bowed. "Your pardon, Your Majesty. I was unaware you were occupied."

Peter grinned at him. "There you are. No need for formality. Come in and meet Sir Gilfrey Becke. Gil, my brother, Ed."

The man standing at the window next to Peter was dark of hair and eye, nearly as lanky as Edmund, nearly as tall, perhaps six or seven years older. Like his attire, the knight's graceful bow was elegant and understated.

"It is a great honor to meet you at last, King Edmund. My lord the High King speaks of little else."

Edmund couldn't suppress a subtly pleased glance at his brother as he bowed in return. "The honor is mine, Sir Gilfrey. I pray you pardon my unseemly interruption. I've been long from home and, hearing my brother had been sorely wounded in Ettinsmoor–"

"And saved from death and brought home and put right again." Peter put his hand on Gilfrey's shoulder. "Thanks to our loyal knight here."

Again Gilfrey bowed. "Your High Majesty lays on more praise than my poor deeds will bear. I merely chanced to be present and, at that moment, best able to lend my aid."

Edmund swallowed down the tightness in his throat. "How bad was it?"

Peter shrugged. "Bad enough, Ed. If you like still having a brother, you ought to thank Gil. If he hadn't been there– Well, you know how it is."

Edmund did know. He knew, and he should have been there himself, not separated from his brother by half a kingdom.

"I ought to have gone with you, Peter. You should have sent someone else to Lantern Waste."

"We were just talking about that." Peter's expression tightened. "What happened out there, Ed?"

Edmund sighed as all the weary weight of that last campaign settled back onto his shoulders. "I assume you've read the reports. Things . . . didn't go well."

He rubbed his eyes, trying to blot out the sight of soldiers– friends– who had been cut down. Too many. Far too many.

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "Why not? What was it this time"

Edmund winced at the edge in his brother's voice. This wasn't his first failure, especially recently, and he knew Peter hated to lose any troops. He knew Peter hated to lose at all. But war was risk. Peter knew that.

"The intelligence was bad," Edmund told him. "There were many more Fell Beasts than we expected. Most of the army was with you in the North, and we really weren't–"

"Yes, I read all that in your dispatches. But you were meant to take care of it. I sent you, not someone else."

There was a hardness in Peter's eyes, something that had been there only rarely before and almost never directed at Edmund. At least not since they had left that Other Place half Edmund's lifetime ago.

Edmund had been expecting comfort, sympathy, concern, welcome, nearly anything but this reproof. After being separated? After struggling so hard and risking death at every turn? After four months?

"I'm– I'm sorry."

He had to fight the urge to drop his head and slink away. There was nothing worse than knowing Peter was disappointed in him. Nothing.

It was Sir Gilfrey who finally broke the taut silence. "Please, My King. I'm certain your brother did as best he was able."

Peter's face softened and he rubbed one side of his head. "Sorry, Ed. I'm not quite myself today." He smiled and clapped Edmund on the back. "Buck up, brother mine. We'll get it all sorted."

Edmund nodded and gave him a tight little smile, too, making sure not to flinch even though Peter had happened to catch his shoulder right where it hurt the worst. There was no need to start a whole new round of recriminations at this point. "Of course."

Peter squeezed that same shoulder, jostling it a little, obviously meaning to smooth things over, and Edmund had to hold back a grimace.

"I'm glad you're home, Ed. None the worse for wear?"

"I'm just a little tired."

"I thought as much. And skinny as ever."

This was comfortingly familiar territory, and Edmund made a show of scowling at him. "Wiry, not skinny. Agile. Lean."

"All right. All right." Peter chuckled and turned him towards the door. "I'm sure there's a nice bath and fresh clothes and a few hours rest in a real bed waiting for you. We'll talk at supper, yes?"

It was dismissal.

"Of course." Edmund turned to Gilfrey once more, refusing to allow even a glimmer of pain into his eyes. "I thank you, good Sir Knight, for my brother's life. There is nothing in all Narnia I hold more dear."

Again the Knight's bow was all grace and elegance. "I am honored to have been of service, King Edmund."

Steeling himself, Edmund once again turned to his brother. "You _will_ be at supper, won't you?"

Peter smirked. "Sure I will. But it won't do much good me being there if you're falling asleep in your soup. Now go on. Get cleaned up and get some sleep. We'll talk tonight."

It was dismissal.

With a hurried bow, Edmund left the room, hearing behind him the start of a conversation into which he was not invited, and once again, a warm, golden laugh.

He walked more and more quickly away from the sound, almost running, determined to reach the privacy of his own chambers before he was no longer able to master the emotions that threatened to master him. It wasn't until he had peeled off his travel-stained clothing and sunk his aching body in the waiting tub of hot water that he stopped struggling and let the tears come. Like rain on the ocean, they'd never be noticed.

**Many, many thanks to OldFashionedGirl95 for her suggestions, critiques, infinite patience and constant encouragement. Bless you, dear one!**

**If you want more of this story, dear reader, please review. It helps me write faster.**

**Don't forget to watch the trailers on YouTube (addresses above). They're really great! **

**-WD**


	2. Calumny

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

CALUMNY

It was dark when Edmund woke. Not just the twilight of early evening, but the full dark of night. He'd slept through supper, and no one, it seemed, had thought to send for him. After he'd bathed and dressed earlier, he had stretched out on his bed, meaning to close his eyes for just a moment. It had turned out to be a long moment.

He'd managed to sleep wrong on his bad shoulder. Now it was stiff and painful, and he groaned as he tried to sit up.

"Just a little tired, eh?"

Edmund started and then turned over to see Peter lounging in the chair next to his bed.

"Peter. How long have you been there?"

Peter squinted into the darkness outside the window. "Since about dusk, I guess. I came to get you for supper, but you looked as though you needed sleep more than food."

"You didn't have to come yourself, you know." Edmund scowled fuzzily. "You could have sent someone."

Peter smiled a little. "I know."

"And you didn't have to sit around waiting for me to wake up either."

"I know." Peter pulled him into a sitting position and then into a huge hug. "I did miss you terribly, Ed."

Edmund ducked his head against Peter's shoulder, squeezing him tight in return. This, at long last, was home.

"I'm sorry, Peter." He took two handfuls of the back of his brother's shirt, holding him even tighter. "About the soldiers I lost."

Peter shushed him. "I know you, Eddie. If anything could have been done to stop it from happening, you'd've done it."

"I just didn't want you to think–"

Peter sighed heavily. "I was wretched to you a bit ago, wasn't I?" He gave the back of Edmund's hair a playful tug. "I've been an absolute bear the last little while. Just ask the girls. Ever since I came back from Ettinsmoor. Maybe I've been hit in the head once too often."

Edmund laughed and pulled away from him. "Safest place for you to be hit, if you ask me. No chance of any real damage with anything that hard."

Peter swatted his shoulder and, caught off guard again, Edmund gasped.

"All right now, Edmund, let me see."

"It's nothing. Really."

"That's for me to decide. Come on."

With a sigh, Edmund pushed his shirt off his shoulder so Peter could examine it. It wasn't the most attractive sight, he had to admit, just a mottled collection of blue-purple and yellow-green bruises and a deep cut, more than half healed.

"Doesn't seem like anything's torn or broken or even dislocated," Peter admitted after a period of intense scrutiny.

"Don't sound so disappointed." Edmund pulled his shirt back into place. "As I told the girls, I'm a little bruised up. It's nothing. But there is something fairly serious I haven't told you about."

Peter's eyes widened, and he immediately started looking Edmund over for other injuries. "What?"

"I'm half starved."

Laughing, Peter hauled him to his feet. "Supper awaits you, My King, along with our lovely Queens."

"You all waited for me?" Edmund smiled a little, suddenly pleased out of all proportion.

"Certainly." Peter put his arm around Edmund's shoulders, propelling him into the corridor. "You know Susan wouldn't want to miss a chance to inspect every bite you eat or don't eat."

Edmund rolled his eyes. Susan had made it her special duty to monitor his meals from the time he was a scrawny little boy of ten. The fact that he had grown up and filled out since then didn't seem to make any difference. And it seemed Peter never tired of teasing him as if he were still that scrawny little boy.

"I already eat six times more than she does. I don't know what she wants from me."

"She wants you to grow up big and strong like your magnificent older brother."

Peter grinned and put on an exaggerated swagger, dodging the foot Edmund put out to trip him.

"I'll never be a great lummox like you, Peter. I'll just have to stick with brains over brawn."

"And sneakiness."

"There is that. And you'll never catch up to me there." Edmund smirked and then darted down the corridor. "Or at running."

"Ed!"

Peter sprinted after him, laughing, and Edmund was rather surprised to so easily beat him to the chamber where the Kings and Queens took their private meals. Yes, he was lighter and faster, but his long-legged brother was usually only a step or two behind him.

"Slowing down in your old age, brother mine?"

Peter grinned again, a little more winded than Edmund thought warranted. "I guess there must be– some benefit– to being as– rattleboned as you."

"I'm wiry, I tell you, not–"

"Edmund?"

Susan's only slightly reproving voice came through the open door to the dining chamber, and Peter and Edmund both smoothed their hair and their expressions before walking serenely inside.

"Sorry to be so late, Su, I–" Startled, Edmund glanced back at his brother and then at the man seated at the table next to his older sister. "Sir Gilfrey, I– I hadn't expected to see you here."

The Knight leapt to his feet and bowed deeply. "Good evening, King Edmund. I trust you rested well."

"I did, I thank you."

Again Edmund looked at Peter. It had long ago been agreed between the four Pevensies that private meals were to be strictly that. Private. As Narnia's Kings and Queens, the long-awaited fulfilment of prophecy, they had precious little time when they were not on public display. This was their sanctuary, their haven, a place where they were merely brothers and sisters, family and not royalty.

"Gil's been eating with us since we got back, Ed." Peter looked at him, blue eyes hopeful. "I thought the favor little enough in view of what happened in Ettinsmoor."

Susan gave the Knight a gracious smile. "We've enjoyed the company, Edmund."

"I'm certain you have."

Edmund gave Lucy a questioning look, but she only responded with a subtle shrug.

"I– uh– " A trifle flustered, Sir Gilfrey bowed again, this time to Peter. "If you will pardon me, My King, there are matters I am meant to attend to."

"Nonsense, Gil. Stay to supper."

"You are too kind, Sire." The Knight glanced at Edmund. "But perhaps I shouldn't."

Seeing Peter and Susan were looking expectantly at him, Edmund mustered up as much of a smile as he was able. "Of course you should, Sir Gilfrey. Of course you should."

Peter swatted him on the shoulder, careful this time that it was the unbruised one, and the brothers sat down with Lucy between them. Sir Gilfrey sat between Peter and Susan and took up the tale of a Gryphon and a pair of Woodchucks who joined in partnership selling ladies' finery in Galma. Before long, Peter and the girls were laughing hard enough to bring tears. Again, Edmund mustered up as much of a smile as he was able.

After a few more stories, during which the convivial Knight was especially attentive to keeping Peter and Susan's plates and cups amply supplied, he excused himself from the table.

"No need to hurry off, Gil," Peter said. "You should tell the one about the Water Rats."

"Oh, yes, do," Susan said, her eyes sparkling and a pretty color in her cheeks. "Edmund would love that one."

Seeing everyone was suddenly looking his way, Edmund managed another polite smile. "I'm certain it is a tale well worth the hearing, if the noble Knight has not already told himself out."

The Knight smiled a little uncertainly in return.

"Perhaps another time." Sir Gilfrey bowed to Edmund and then turned to Peter. "After all, My King, the most welcome guest is one who best knows when to make his adieux."

Peter took another sip of wine, shooting Edmund a black glance. "As you please, Gil, if you feel you must. Goodnight."

"And to you, My Lord High King. Shall I read over those trade matters for you before the council meets tomorrow?"

Peter nodded. "It would be good of you. I can't seem to keep my mind on anything I read these days."

"It will be my pleasure, My King. Your High Majesty ought not trouble himself with such trifles as it is." The Knight turned and bowed to Lucy. "Goodnight, noble lady, and happiest of dreams."

Lucy nodded. "Goodnight."

"And to you, My Queen." He brought Susan's hand to his handsome lips. "I could wish nothing better for you than that your rest may be as deep and sweet as your beauty."

Susan gave him her prettiest smile, which was quite lovely indeed, and with a final goodnight, Sir Gilfrey left the room.

"Well done, Ed," Peter growled. "Happy now?"

"What did I do?"

Susan pursed her lips. "You might have been a little nicer, Edmund. You're supposed to be our diplomat, and you hardly spoke to him all evening."

"I might have if he'd ever stopped to take a breath. Besides, what did you want me to say? 'Oh, prithee, Sir Gilfrey, we've had but eighty-seven of your tales this night. Can you not make it an even hundred before you leave us?'"

Lucy giggled and then was abruptly silent under Peter's glare.

Edmund looked at him warily. Peter was always tender with the girls, especially his baby sister. This now was entirely unlike him.

Peter seemed puzzled for a second, and then he gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Lu. Guess I'm a little tired tonight."

She squeezed his hand. "Headaches bothering you again?"

He shrugged and drained his cup. "Maybe I ought to try to sleep it off."

"You know, I can look at those trade agreements for you," Edmund offered.

"That's all right, Ed. Gil will see to them."

Peter stood up, but Edmund grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Sure." Peter's smile was gentle if a little vague. "Glad you're back. See you in the morning."

He gave Edmund a one-armed hug and then kissed each of the girls on the forehead.

"Goodnight."

Once he was gone, Edmund looked from Susan to Lucy and then back to Susan. "_Is_ he all right?"

"He's been working too hard as usual," Susan said. "Sir Gilfrey has been trying to take over some of his duties, just to give him a little rest."

"Really?" Edmund looked at Lucy. "Like what?"

"Oh, little things mostly, I suppose." Lucy shrugged. "Like reading over matters Peter has to consider. Those trade agreements, for example. Sometimes settling a dispute. Little things."

Susan smiled. "He's really been very helpful."

"Peter seems to think so." Edmund knit his brow. "What happened in Ettinsmoor, Su?"

His sisters looked at each other, and he could see the memory was painful for them both.

"He was almost dead when they brought him home." Susan's lips trembled. "He was so . . . broken. I don't know how he managed to survive until he got back here."

"What did they do to him?" Edmund had to force his voice to stay steady at the look on his sister's face. "Su?"

Lucy put her hand over Susan's. "Sir Gilfrey said one of the giants had Peter by the ankles and was slinging him against a tree trunk. Over and over again." Her eyes filled with tears. "Poor Peter, I couldn't even recognize him when I first saw him, he was so battered. I'm glad he doesn't remember any of it."

Susan eyes were also wet, but she smiled, too. "But Sir Gilfrey got him here alive, and the cordial healed him. So you can understand how grateful we are."

Edmund nodded. "Peter knighted him, didn't he?"

"Yes," Lucy said. "The minute he could stand again. Sir Gilfrey was the one who charged that giant and cut his legs out from under him. And Sir Gilfrey was the one to bring Peter home. He rigged a sling so relays of Gryphons could fly him here as quickly as possible. Most likely, Peter wouldn't have survived another moment if he hadn't."

Edmund gave his sisters a reluctant smile. "I can see how that might make Peter rather appreciate the fellow."

Lucy grinned.

"It's hard to even consider denying him much of anything after that," Susan said

Edmund was silent for a long moment.

"I'll have to thank him properly tomorrow," he said finally. "And try not to be such a boor next time he comes to dine."

Lucy reached over to caress his cheek. "You weren't, Ed. Peter's just . . . I don't know, sometimes a little snappish since he's got back."

"You don't think the cordial could have missed something, do you?" Edmund asked. "He's been having headaches?"

"Some." Susan sighed. "You know Peter. He never says a word about feeling ill until he can't stand straight anymore."

Lucy frowned. "I've never known the cordial to miss anything before. I have been wondering though. The healers can't find anything the least bit wrong with him."

Susan's smile was tinged with worry. "They say he needs to relax more, and I agree. Now that you're back, Edmund, maybe you can see to some things for him, give him a little more free time."

Edmund made a sour face. "I thought his new Knight was taking care of everything for him."

Susan put one hand on her hip. "Now, Edmund, be nice. What did you say just two minutes ago?"

"All right. All right. I am tame." He leaned over to kiss the blooming curve of her cheek. "I am also tired, so if you will both excuse me, My Queens . . . "

He kissed Lucy's nose and was at once enveloped her warm embrace.

It was good to be home.

He gave a nod and a goodnight to Leander, the Cheetah on night duty in the corridor, and considered checking on Peter. Then he decided he had better not. If Peter was sleeping well, being awakened to be asked if he was sleeping well was probably the last thing he needed. Still, Edmund couldn't help pausing as he passed his brother's door.

"No."

That was Peter's voice, low and hoarse, and Edmund stood listening for a moment.

"No. No."

Without knocking, Edmund slipped into the room. There was an arc of moonlight across the bed, and he could see Peter's face twisted into a grimace. His body twitched as he struggled against his nightmare.

"No. Don't."

At least this one seemed mild.

"It's just a dream, Peter." His voice soft and soothing, Edmund jostled Peter's shoulder. "You're all right."

Peter jerked and was abruptly still. Then he exhaled heavily. His face relaxed, and his breathing slowed.

"Glajurhomgined," he mumbled, and he gave the hand on his shoulder a couple of clumsy pats. Then he turned over and sprawled out on his stomach, dead to the world.

Edmund chuckled softly as he pulled the blankets over him.

Yes, it was good to be home.

OOOOO

Peter sighed and tried to rub away the ache in his left temple as he looked from the scowling Black Dwarf to the bewildered Black Bear. Couldn't anyone just get along? Ever?

"Sorry. Peter," Edmund smoothed his dark hair, settled his silver crown on his head and hurried to seat himself on his throne. "Overslept."

"These Western matters are your responsibility," Peter reminded him, keeping his voice low. "Really, Ed. I shouldn't have to keep stepping in like this."

"I didn't mean to. Seems like it's just one thing after another lately."

Peter frowned. "It's getting to be a habit."

"I didn't plan to be late you know. It was . . . rather a rough night."

Peter gave him an apologetic, half-abashed smile. He hadn't felt quite right since he'd returned from Ettinsmoor three months ago. Since Edmund had come back from Lantern Waste a short while after that, it seemed to Peter that there was one problem after another: a rebellious subject to be dealt with, some minor misunderstanding between him and his brother, some new rumor which had to be quelled. Nothing major. Nothing too difficult to resolve. Just a constant wearing stream of little annoyances.

Now autumn was fast turning into winter, and things were not improving. Though he refused to admit it to anyone, he seemed to always be tired, not sick but indefinably achy, and his sleep was broken with nightmares. They had been infrequent at first and most often not too intense, but now he had them more and more, and he was less and less able to shake them off. He couldn't exactly remember what terrible visions had plagued him this last time. He couldn't really remember much of last night at all, but whatever his nightmares had been, his reaction had been violent enough to wake his brother. Edmund had hurried from his own room to bring Peter back to himself and then spent half the night watching over him and coaxing him once more to sleep. Little wonder Edmund had overslept himself.

"I guess it was a bit rough, wasn't it, Ed? My fault. Sorry."

The Dwarf cleared his throat. "I see His Majesty is behind his time this morning. But perhaps he'll be able to settle this matter for us now he's come. There is no surer judge in all the kingdom than the Just King."

Edmund raised his dark brows and looked at his brother.

"Evidently there's a cave not far from Caldron Pool that both of our subjects here lay claim to," Peter explained. "The Dwarfs want to mine it. The Bears just want to live in it."

"As I explained to His High Majesty earlier, Just King, the cave should by all rights be ours." The Dwarf looked at Edmund as if there were something more to what he said than just the words. "Surely you can see it is of much more value to us and to Narnia than to this pudding-headed dolt and his like."

The Bear glanced at Peter, looking as if he might burst into tears.

Peter sighed. "But you admit, good Dwarf, that the Bear and his ancestors have made a home of that cave since before the Long Winter came to Narnia. How can you claim right to it now?"

"There's a good vein of ore in that mine, and we're the ones who can best make use of it." The Dwarf waved his stubby arms. "Faugh, the Bears will just let it sit idle. If we have no iron, how will we make steel? If we have no steel, how will we forge swords for your soldiers, Sire? Heh? Answer me that?"

"But, King Peter," the Bear said, his voice slow and thick as if his mouth were still sticky from his morning honey, "I was born in that cave. So were my brothers and sisters. It's . . . it's _our _cave."

Peter had to keep his expression neutral, for he was High King after all, but he wanted nothing more than to go pet the poor old Bruin on the nose and assure him he needn't worry.

"One cave's as good as another for sleeping," the Dwarf scoffed, lifting his bushy black brows. "Would you not agree, King Edmund?"

Again he gave Edmund a significant glance, as if there were some understanding between them, but Edmund only frowned.

"I am sorry, friend, but I fear I cannot. As the good Bear says, it's their cave. Seems it has been, time out of mind. If they do not wish to have it mined, then I cannot see any reason to compel them."

"Then we are agreed, brother," Peter said. "The good Bear shall keep his cave. And you, good Dwarf, must find some other supply of ore. If you like, we shall provide you with aid and equipment to seek out different–"

"No!" The Dwarf's face went all purply red, and he glared at Edmund. "This cannot be your decision. It cannot!"

Edmund smiled slightly, looking at the little man as if he were out of his mind. "I fear it is, good Dwarf. It is the only just decision. The High King and I are agreed. I realize you do not–"

"No! We were promised! We were promised a decision in favor of the Dwarfs! We need that ore! You cannot deny us now! We've already paid the money!"

Edmund's dark brows came together. "What?"

"Paid?" Peter demanded over the murmuring that filled the throne room. "What money?"

The Dwarf sneered. "Good money, King Peter, and aplenty! We've been gulled, I say, and I'll tell the world about it. Just, indeed. What is just about taking payment and giving no value in return? It's a scandal it is, and I'll not keep quiet about it. I say the High King and all Narnia shall know what's afoot and then we shall have a payment of our own."

The murmuring grew louder. With a glance at his brother, Peter held up one hand for silence.

"I will ask you once, Dwarf, and see you speak plain and true. Who has taken payment from you to bend Narnian justice?"

The Dwarf snorted. "Who else but he who is best able to bend it, Sire? The Just King himself. King Edmund."

And Edmund's face was pale as ashes.

**Author's Note: Thanks again to OldFashionedGirl95 and to Laura Andrews for reading and suggesting and saving me from endless writerly embarrassments. I greatly appreciate you both.**

–**WD**


	3. Perfidy

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

PERFIDY

"I tell you, Peter, it's a lie."

Edmund wanted to scream the words rather than speak them calmly. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to shake his brother until that look of pained, stunned uncertainty was driven from his face.

Peter merely called for silence in the murmuring court. "What is your name, Dwarf?"

The Dwarf leered at him, grinning through his coarse black beard. "Glawkin, High Majesty, of the great Western Wood. King Edmund could have told you as much."

Edmund glared at the little man. "Again it is a lie. I have not laid eyes on you before this day. By Aslan, I swear it."

The Dwarf merely shook his head and clicked his tongue, still grinning at Peter. "Lies upon lies, High Majesty, and in the Great Lion's name. Shocking. Ask him if we did not meet three months ago, near the river outside his camp. Ask him if, apart from the gold he asked, I did not give him a cut ruby, the size of a pigeon egg and red as blood."

Peter turned to his brother. "Is that true, Edmund?"

"It is not." Edmund shot back. "There were a number of Black Dwarfs among the renegades we were fighting, but I never had words with any of them. I certainly never had gold or anything else from them."

"You never spoke to any Dwarfs when you were out West?" Peter pressed.

Edmund shook his head.

"Forgive me, My King, but that's not so."

Edmund and Peter both turned at the words that were more screeched than spoken.

"Forgive me, My King," the Eagle repeated, and Edmund recognized him as Greywing, a trusted army scout since the end of the Long Winter.

"You saw King Edmund speaking to this Dwarf, good Greywing?" Peter asked.

"I cannot say that, High Majesty. But I did see King Edmund in talk with _a _Dwarf as I was patrolling three months ago. They were under cover of the trees along the riverbank, and I could not see the Dwarf's face. But it was indeed a Dwarf. A Black Dwarf." The Eagle ducked his head. "I pray you pardon me, King Edmund."

Edmund could only shake his head, wracking his brain for some explanation as he looked pleadingly into the growing mistrust on his brother's face.

"Peter-"

"You're sure, Edmund? You didn't speak to any Dwarfs when you were there?"

"No, I'm sure I never– Wait. No. I remember when that must have been. I went down to the river to wash, and there was a Black Dwarf there drawing water, but he was very old, not a renegade, certainly no threat. He was afraid I would count him with the enemy, but I assured him I meant him no harm and he hurried away. It was a conversation of a moment. I had forgotten it entirely."

"Your Majesty has rather a convenient memory," Glawkin scoffed. "Still, one might expect gold and rubies to be rather more worth remembrance than one elderly Dwarf."

"I remember what's true and what's false, Dwarf. Best you remember the penalty for perjury here in our court.'

The Dwarf snorted. "Yes, I know. You are the brother of the High King. You need fear no consequences if your graft is found out."

Edmund grit his teeth, only barely keeping himself from striking the impudent bearded face. "You prove yourself a liar with each word you speak. Who here does not know this court shows no favor to any creature?"

There was a comforting murmur of agreement from several of the onlookers, and Edmund glanced yet again at his brother. Surely Peter didn't doubt his innocence in such a matter. Edmund had spent half a lifetime atoning for betraying his family to the White Witch, proving his passionate dedication to justice and faithfulness. To Narnia and to Aslan. To his High King.

Peter only looked grieved and bewildered. "What proof have you, Dwarf, that anyone has taken your bribe? That you ever met with King Edmund?"

"Oh, he was clever, King Peter. He made sure there was no one to see, though it seems he forgot how sharp eyed our friends the Eagles are. He told me I was to give him the gold and he would see the matter fell in favor of the Dwarfs once it was brought to Cair Paravel to be ruled on. Now he wishes to have his payment and not give value in return. It's not to be borne!"

Peter looked from the Dwarf to his brother and back again. Then he clenched his jaw.

"You have brought no proof against your Sovereign, Dwarf."

"The Eagle, High King! He saw–"

Peter glanced at Greywing, "Our cousin Greywing has proven himself many times over and we do not doubt he speaks truly what he has seen."

The Eagle bowed his head briefly.

"But what he saw," Peter continued, turning to Glawkin, "neither proves nor disproves what either you or King Edmund has said. Unless you have something further to show as evidence of your claim, we must dismiss it as unsubstantiated."

"Your Majesty–"

Peter's cold look cut the Dwarf off. "As we before decreed, the good Bear shall keep his cave."

The Black Bear made a lumbering bow, looking at the High King with unabashed adoration. "King Peter."

"And you, Dwarf," Peter said, "take care what you speak without justification. King Edmund is Aslan's chosen, approved and crowned by His will."

The Dwarf only sneered. "If I remember the tale aright, High King, the so-called Just King is no stranger to betrayal."

"Mind your tongue, Dwarf, while you yet have one."

Edmund's eyes widened at the sudden savagery in his brother's tone. Narnia was famed for the civility of its laws and of its High King. As much for his prowess in battle, Peter was well known for his courtesy and kindness. Hearing him in an open audience brutally threaten one of his subjects was enough to bring stunned silence to the court.

"Peter–"

"And you." Peter shoved Edmund's hand off his arm and then looked out over the court, blue eyes flashing cold fire. "I'll hear no more today."

He stalked from the throne room, and the chamber was once again filled with murmuring. The Bear stood with his paws over his mouth, staring at his idol in disbelief. The Dwarf merely scowled.

"Quiet, please." Edmund swallowed hard and raised his voice. "Please!"

The Faun chamberlain rapped his staff on the marble floor, and there was silence once more. Some of the eyes that looked back at Edmund were wide and uncertain. Some were mistrustful, wary. Some were openly hostile. He kept his own expression calm and regal.

"As you have heard, the High King shall hear no more suits today. Have patience, good friends and cousins. You shall each of you be heard in time. Until then, Lion's blessing upon you all."

He didn't wait for the audience chamber to clear before he went to find Peter.

Peter's private study was deserted. His bedroom was silent and empty. But from its balcony Edmund could see the bleak beach below and the gray waves tossing beyond it. Along the shore walked a tall, solitary figure, eyes down, golden head bent into the wind, crimson cloak whipping around booted legs. Edmund considered calling to him but decided instead to go down there himself. He made his way back through the Cair, through the courtyard and outside the castle walls, but before he could even step onto the sand, a large hand stopped him.

"The High King has asked to be left alone, King Edmund."

Oreius, the Centaur general who had taught him and his brother everything they knew about how to conduct a battle and how to survive one, about how to be Narnian Kings and warriors and men, the one who, half Edmund's lifetime ago, had been sent to rescue him from the Witch and who had taken Edmund up, terrified, starved and beaten, into massive, iron-muscled arms, fierce and terrible as an avenging angel, and carried him home to Aslan and to Peter, the one who had come to hold the place of almost a father to him, Oreius looked at Edmund now with cold impassivity, a soldier doing his duty, no more than that.

What had Peter told him? Or perhaps the real question was what had Oreius heard? There had been a lot of little things in the months since Edmund had come back from fighting in Lantern Waste. Little disappointments, little failures, little miscommunications. There was the failed campaign itself and the lives so gratuitously lost as well as a maelstrom of other things that more recently seemed to attach themselves to him. Unsubstantiated rumors. Gossip. Little incidents, accidents, coincidences that didn't look quite right. Easily explained. Easily denied. Easily seen to.

This sort of thing, though not so much and not all at once, had come and gone for all four of the Pevensies since their coronation. It was only to be expected for anyone in a place of power and renown. Oreius himself had told them to expect it. Had he forgotten his own advice? Or was there something else? Something not so easily brushed aside? Surely Oreius didn't believe–

"The High King has asked to be left alone," the Centaur repeated, his grip on Edmund's shoulder growing almost imperceptibly tighter.

"I must speak to him."

Oreius's angular, expressionless face did not change. "I am under orders from my King."

"I am also your King."

Edmund looked into his dark eyes, unflinching, until the Centaur conceded a slight nod. But before he released his hold, Oreius looked at the Gryphon and the two Tigers who were standing guard over the High King from the hillside above the beach. Then he looked significantly back at Edmund. A warning? A threat? What did he think Edmund might do?

The pained, questioning plea in Edmund's eyes was met still with professional coolness, but the Centaur took one graceful step back and let the younger King pass.

Edmund looked down the beach and saw Peter watching him, his face as impassive as his General's, but when Edmund moved towards him, Peter darted away, his heavy bootprints cutting the wet sand and then immediately filling with the lapping surf. Edmund sprinted after him, running higher up the beach where it was dry, still making up ground. Silent but for the crunch of their steps and Peter's increasingly harsh breathing, they ran until Peter finally faltered to a stop, bracing himself against the huge rock that marked the edge of the cove.

"I told– Oreius– I didn't want to see anybody."

Edmund pulled up beside him, saying nothing until Peter finally deigned to look at him. There was anger in the blue eyes. Hurt. Disbelief.

"Peter." Edmund squinted up at the wan autumn sun, hardly knowing how to begin, almost afraid to trust his own voice. "You don't believe him, do you? That stupid Dwarf? After everything, you can't trust the word of a stranger over mine. You can't."

"I don't know what to believe. After everything? Everything you can't quite explain away anymore?" Peter glanced to the hillside above them. "Oreius tells me some of our soldiers are leaving."

Edmund looked up, too, puzzled. "Leaving?"

"Leaving the army."

Again Peter looked up. Was he making sure his guard was still there? To protect him from what? From his own brother?

Edmund knit his brows. "Why?"

"What happened out West, Ed?"

"As I said, I never saw that Dwarf before today. I never took so much as a bread crumb from him. Peter, he's lying or he's mad or he's deceived. I don't know what. But, as Aslan sees and knows the truth, I swear what he says is just not so."

"I don't mean him. What happened in the campaign?"

"I- I told you." Edmund shook his head, bewildered. They'd been over and over this months ago. "The intelligence–"

"That doesn't explain our troops wanting to leave."

"I don't understand. Why do they want to leave?"

"Because they're afraid they'll be sold out again."

"Sold out? What do you mean?"

"Sold out. Betrayed. Sent to die by a commander who's been paid to lose. What do you think I mean?"

Edmund could feel the color drop out of his face. "Peter, you don't believe I–"

"Doesn't matter what I believe, Ed. They're the ones who are leaving. In droves, Oreius says."

Edmund looked back to where the Centaur stood watching them, face set and stern, and forced his own face into the same hard lines. "What are they saying? About me."

Peter closed his eyes and lowered his head, still standing braced against the rock.

"I didn't want to have to talk to you about this yet, Edmund. I don't know enough really. Supposedly there were . . . strategic dispatches that were sent to the enemy. Dispatches under your name and seal."

"Peter. Peter, you can't. You can't think it's true. You know me, Peter. Please tell me you know I'd never do such a thing."

"I don't want to think it, Ed. I can't think it. I don't know what else to think." Peter grimaced and rubbed his forehead. "It's– Ugh, I can't think straight. I should be able to work this out. It should make sense. It should all somehow make sense."

"Peter . . ."

When Peter looked up again, the anger and hurt in his eyes were gone. Now the only thing there was pure fear.

"Edmund, I think I must be losing my mind."

**Author's Note: Once more, OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have been beyond helpful in making this story the best it can be. Thank you!**

–**WD**


	4. Duplicity

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

DUPLICIY

The breath shuddered out of Edmund's lungs at his brother's words.

_Edmund, I think I must be losing my mind_.

There was something wrong, Edmund knew there was, something more and more wrong since he'd come back from Lantern Waste, but not this. Oh, please, not this. No. No. No.

"Peter."

For a long moment, there was only the rushing of the surf on the windswept beach, and then Peter raked both hands through his tawny hair and pressed them against his head, grimacing again.

"I told Susan and Lucy I couldn't remember what happened to me when I was in Ettinsmoor. That's– that's not altogether true. Most of it is a blur, I'll admit, but I remember some of it. I– I didn't want them to know." His face was suddenly a sickly gray. "I remember hitting that tree over and over again. And the last thing I remember is that giant laughing and saying, 'Now I crush that pretty royal head. Little by little.'"

"Peter."

"Then he put his hand over– over my face and started squeezing." Peter closed his eyes, and there was sudden sweat on his upper lip. "Just– just slowly sq–squeezing. More and more. I couldn't breathe, and I could feel the bones start to sna–"

"Stop." Edmund pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Just stop. Stop. Don't think about it anymore. It's over."

"Is it?" Peter clung to him, his breath coming in little gasps, his face pressed against Edmund's shoulder. "Eddie, is it? What's happening to me? I can't think straight anymore. I can't remember things. Nothing makes sense. What if– what if he did crush something inside my head? Something that's still not right? Something that will never again _be_ right?"

"You took the cordial, Peter. That heals everything, doesn't it?"

"It should. Why hasn't it?"

"Maybe because you're already all right. Maybe there's just nothing left to heal. Maybe–"

"Maybe I'm just . . . going mad."

"No." Edmund tightened his hold, shaking him a little, half-growling the words through gritted teeth. "No. No, you're not."

Peter only trembled against him, and Edmund forced him to look up, frightened himself by the sheer terror he saw in those eyes.

"Peter, you're not."

"You can't tell anyone, Edmund. You can't."

"The healers–"

"No. Not anyone. I don't– I don't know what would happen if the people thought I– If they wondered– They might panic if they thought their High King was . . . not right. Our enemies–"

"But the girls–"

"No. Especially not the girls." Peter shook his head frantically and then winced. Even that hurt him. "I've told them I have headaches. Just leave it at that."

"Peter, you can't–"

"Swear it, Edmund. You have to. I need you to." His voice quivered, and he took a painful hold of Edmund's arms. "Please."

Edmund searched his anxious eyes and then dropped to one knee there in the sand. He bowed his head and brought the back of Peter's hand to his forehead.

"I swear before you, My High King, and before the Great King who rules us both, I will never speak of this without your leave."

He looked up to see the blue eyes brimming with relieved tears, and then Peter pulled him into his arms.

"It's all right," Edmund murmured, feeling his brother still quivering against him. "It's going to be all right. _You're_ going to be all right. Tell me again about the soldiers."

"The soldiers?"

Edmund pulled back to look into Peter's bewildered face, determined to steady him again. "You said some of them are leaving the army. When did you find out?"

"I, uh . . . Just now. After I left the throne room. Oreius told me. Coming right on top of what the Dwarf said about you, I was afraid you– I didn't know what to think. I–"

"Oreius thinks I did what? Took money to make sure we lost in Lantern Waste?"

Peter nodded warily, and then a hint of an uncertain smile touched his lips.

"It's got to be a mistake, doesn't it? You couldn't have. You couldn't have." He wiped one hand over his face, and then he smoothed his tousled hair and straightened his shoulders. "Come on, Ed. We'll get it all sorted, eh? Starting with Friend Glawkin, don't you think?"

Edmund nodded, lips pressed tightly together. "I'd like much more information from him than we've had yet."

They walked back towards the castle, the Gryphon and Tigers of Peter's guard trailing silently behind. Oreius waited at the edge of the sand until the two Kings reached him.

Peter stopped before his general, "I want details on exactly who is saying what about the Lantern Waste campaign. If there is gossip, I want to know who's spreading it. If there are witnesses, I want to speak to them. If my brother and King is being slandered, I want to know by whom and why."

The Centaur glanced at Edmund, and then turned again to Peter. "As I said before, Majesty, there are . . . disturbing proofs, and those from soldiers I have long trusted."

Peter lifted his chin, now every bit the High King. "I daresay no more than you and I both have trusted King Edmund all these years."

The formidable general made the slightest of bows. "It is so, Majesty. No doubt when the truth is had, we will find our trust has not been misplaced."

_Trust in me or in your soldiers? _Edmund wondered, but he said nothing.

"I will bring you the information you seek, Majesty." Oreius assured Peter, and with a nod, Peter headed up the pathway back towards the castle.

"Do you think he's still nearby?" Edmund asked, hurrying after him. "The Dwarf?"

"I don't know, Ed. Someone must know where he is. We'll just have to find out."

The Royal Chamberlain, a faun called Cronus, told them he had seen the Black Dwarf leave the throne room shortly after court had been dismissed, grumbling about his payment and justice and why there was somehow nothing fit to eat at what was meant to be the capital of the civilized world. But as Peter and Edmund made their way down to the kitchens to see if Glawkin had been seen there, they were detained by a hesitant, cultured voice behind them.

"If you will pardon me, My King . . ."

The brothers both turned, though Edmund knew already that he was not the one being addressed.

Sir Gilfrey bowed almost apologetically. "If you have a moment, High King, I very much need to speak with you . . . regarding those matters you asked me to look into."

Peter frowned slightly. "Certainly, Gil. Edmund and I will–"

"Alone, if I might, My King." The Knight glanced at Edmund and then at Peter. "I think– It is rather important, Sire, I pray you pardon me."

Edmund allowed nothing but calm control to show in his face. "I can see to this myself, Peter, if you have something you need to do."

"If you're sure, Ed."

"Oh, I'm sure. I'd very much like to settle things with our friend right now. Once and for all."

Peter smiled. "I'm sure you would. Let me know what you find out, all right?"

Edmund nodded, and the Knight bowed to him.

"King Edmund."

"Sir Gilfrey," Edmund returned, coolly.

He watched as the Knight led his brother away, and then he hurried to the kitchens.

OOOOO

Peter shoved back the stack of documents on his desk and rubbed his eyes, the words he had been trying to read only a merciless blur of black on white.

"So what it boils down to is that Calormen has been trying to buy ships?"

"So it would seem, My King." Gilfrey shuffled through the papers and pulled one out. "As you see, the Governor of the Seven Isles reports that Calormen has made them repeated offers despite your edict that none of our people sell to them."

"But no one in the Seven Isles agreed to sell."

"Correct. And you can see that, according to this report–" Gilfrey pulled out a different paper. "–the Calormene requests stopped six months ago."

Peter leaned his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands. "Then . . . why is that a problem?" He squinted blearily at the Knight. "I hope you haven't made me slog through this mess all afternoon just to see that everything is all right."

"I wish I could say it was so, My King. Yes, the Calormenes stopped their requests for ships six months ago." Gilfrey pulled out another report. "And as you can see, that was when Archenland began building up her navy. Almost to the day."

Peter nodded. "And you're saying there's a connection."

"I cannot say that for certain, My King." Gilfrey shrugged slightly. "It just seemed . . . troubling to me. I thought you should be aware of it."

"Why are you telling me this? Edmund usually deals with these matters. Or Lucy, since she's Marchioness of the Seven Isles and in charge of about anything having to do with the sea."

"I just–" Gilfrey looked uncomfortable. "You are High King. I thought you best should know. And I understand Her Majesty Queen Lucy has been unwell."

Peter sighed. "Yes. I need to go see her."

"I trust it is nothing serious."

"Just a chill, I believe."

"I am relieved to hear it, My King. But you can see why I did not wish to disturb Her Majesty."

"Yes. Of course. But Edmund–" Peter broke off at the pained look on his friend's face. "What?"

"Nothing, My King. No. King Edmund has nothing to do with this, I have no doubt. It's just, with all the . . . uncertainty surrounding him of late, I hated to trouble him with such matters."

"I think he's had some bad luck is all." Peter smiled hopefully. "Don't you think? I mean, he and I were just discussing everything earlier. Now that we've talked, I see I'd have to be mad to believe even half of these things that are being said about him."

"Surely your brother hasn't tried to convince you that you are mad," Gilfrey said, concern in his dark eyes.

"No. No, nothing like that, Gil."

"Your Majesty is certainly nothing of the kind."

"Let's hope."

Peter gave him half a smile and took the goblet he was offered.

"Madness," he muttered half to himself after a long moment's thought. "'Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.'"

"What do you say, My King?"

"Oh." Peter shrugged. "Just something from a play I once saw."

Gilfrey sat on the edge of Peter's desk with his own goblet and smiled. "A good one, I trust."

"A great one. With much to say on the nature of man and kingship and faithfulness and betrayal." Peter frowned slightly. "I wish I could remember it."

"Mayhap the players shall return one day and you will see it again."

"No." Peter laughed softly. "No, those players are most unlikely to come to Cair Paravel. But there is perhaps no place more suited to Shakespeare's wit and magic than fair Narnia."

"Shakespeare, My King?"

"Never mind, Gil. You wouldn't have heard of him." Peter drained his cup and stood up. "I think I'd better go see how my sister is doing. After supper, I will write to King Lune to see what he says about buying ships from the Seven Isles. Oh, and Oreius is supposed to bring me some information about the Lantern Waste campaign later on. Do me a favor and look it over for me when it's ready, will you?"

Gilfrey smiled. "I'd be very pleased to, My King."

OOOOO

Peter padded up to Lucy's bedside, careful to make as little noise as possible. Susan was already standing there holding an empty cup and a half-full bowl of soup. Edmund was sitting on the edge of the bed with one of Lucy's hands in both of his. Both of them were looking with anxious eyes at their sister's still face.

"How is she?" Peter whispered.

Before Susan could do more than open her mouth, Peter heard a tiny giggle.

Susan sighed. "Lucy, you promised."

Lucy's blue eyes popped open. "But I want to say goodnight to Peter." She reached her free hand up to her oldest brother. "I've hardly seen you this past week."

She might have been eighteen, a Queen and a woman grown, but she still knew how to use a playful pout to her own advantage. As usual, Peter was helpless against her.

"I take it you're supposed to be sleeping," he said, his grin indulgent as he took her hand, but then he frowned. "You're like ice, Lu. What have you been doing?"

"Nothing _but_ sleeping." Her pout deepened. "I'm cold and I'm tired, but that's all. I don't know why everyone has to make such a fuss."

She shivered and nestled further into her downy bedding, pulling Peter down to sit by her at the head of the bed.

"Lucy," Susan began, but again Lucy turned wide blue eyes to her oldest brother.

"Make them go away, Peter. I only want you."

How could he resist that?

Susan rolled her eyes and left the room with Lucy's dishes.

"You're awfully cold, Lu." Edmund squeezed his little sister's hand. "Sure you shouldn't have some more tea or hot chocolate or something?"

"I couldn't possibly hold another drop of anything. Susan is trying to drown me as it is."

"All right." Edmund rubbed her hand briskly and then tucked it back under the covers as he stood up. "Feel better, okay?"

"I'll be better in the morning. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," he warned, and then he gave her a wink. "Night, Lu."

Peter stopped him before he could leave. "Did you . . . find what you were looking for?"

"Not a trace." Edmund's dark eyes were grim. "I was told it might be in the stables or even somewhere in the forest, but I couldn't find it. I'll look again tomorrow."

"It would be useful to have," Peter said, though for some reason he was struggling now to remember why.

"Very useful." Edmund agreed. "Don't worry, Pete, I'll find it. I need it more than you do."

Lucy frowned looking from Edmund to Peter and then back to Edmund. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Edmund–"

"Goodnight, sister dear." He kissed her forehead. "And remember to keep your promise."

Before she could protest further, he hurried out and shut the door behind him.

"It's that horrid Dwarf, isn't it?" Lucy gave Peter one of her determined looks, one that said she wouldn't be put off. "What's happening? Why would anyone say such things about Edmund?"

"Dunno, Lu." He pulled her up against him a little, his arm around her shoulders and her head in his lap. "We're trying to find out what exactly is going on. How did you know about it anyway? I thought you've been sick the past day or two."

"Sick. Not dead. Between Susan and all my ladies-in-waiting, there isn't much I don't hear about."

Peter sighed, wishing the whole issue and his nagging headache would both disappear. "Edmund's right. It's nothing for you to worry over."

"I won't worry as long as I know you'd never believe anything bad about him." She snuggled more tightly against Peter and then looked up into his face. "You feel too warm. Are you all right?"

He pushed her head back into his lap, holding her closer. "I only feel warm to you because you're too cold. Want me to put more wood on your fire?"

"No." She clung tighter. "Just sit with me a while. You look tired."

He stroked her fair hair. "I really should let you sleep."

"I _will _sleep. If you'll stay a while, I promise I'll go right to sleep."

His mouth turned up at one side. "Like you promised Susan?"

"Please?" She toyed with the embroidered trim on his doublet, her eyes again turned up to his. "Pretty please?"

"Just a while," he conceded. "And you go right to sleep. I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to be. I'll be better in the morning. I promised Edmund." She closed her eyes with a contented sigh. "You are nice and warm."

She shivered again, and he pulled her comforter more snugly around her. True to her word, she was soon asleep, but he was in no hurry to leave.

Of all the royal chambers, this one had the best view of the sea. Lucy's sea. From here, there was nothing to see but sand and an endless expanse of rolling waves, nothing to hear but crashing surf, nothing to smell but fresh salt air. He always felt calmed coming here. Sometimes, when he was getting ready to turn in for the night and was making sure the rest of his family were safely in bed, he would just stand there on Lucy's balcony watching the sea and the stars, breathing in the night and the peace that always seemed to rest in this place. He had no doubt his youngest sister's closeness to Aslan was the source of that peace, and he was glad to always find it here when he sometimes could not find it elsewhere on his own.

"Aslan," he whispered, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Just for a minute, he told himself, but soon he, too, was asleep.

OOOOO

Despite her best intentions, Lucy was unable to keep her promise to Edmund. Over the next two weeks, her illness grew only worse. The healers had no explanation for it. The symptoms, they said, were baffling: increasing chills and sleepiness, a lack of appetite, nothing else really wrong. Susan stayed with her almost constantly, though Lucy did little more than sleep the days and nights through.

The younger Queen's mysterious sickness was the most talked about topic of the day. At least it was until, noticing a strange odor coming from the wine cellar, one of the cooks, a Whippet, and her Badger helper, opened the large keg that seemed to be the source of the problem. In it, in place of the beer that ought to have been stored there, was the body of a Black Dwarf.

****Author's Note: The quote Peter mentions is, of course, from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Yet again, the help of OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews in saving me from authorly embarrassment cannot be overstated. Thank you!****

–**WD**


	5. Sortilege

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

SORTILEGE

_Has Your Majesty considered there may be dark magic at work here?_

Susan had scarcely been able to get Sootquill's words off her mind since she had first heard them a week ago.

The old Owl had sat perched on the back of a chair on the far side of Lucy's stifling bedchamber, blinking at Susan in the unaccustomed daylight. "If there is no natural cause for Queen Lucy's illness, we must consider an unnatural one."

Cerise, the Cherry Dryad healer who tended Lucy, had looked at the floor, her delicate face pensive. "I have hesitated to say so, My Queen, especially after– after this morning, but we have no other explanation for you. We have come to the end of our wisdom, and that is why we have sent for Sootquill."

Susan had pressed her lips together, not wanting to think about the dead Dwarf who had been found in the wine cellar earlier that day. It was all she could do to deal with things here.

Sootquill had bowed his head and blinked his yellow eyes again. "If it is dark magic, then it is beyond the wisdom of my people as well. You must send for Stormseer, the Centaur who lives above Caldron Pool. It may be that Aslan will give him a vision or some word of wisdom to tell us how to help Queen Lucy and, perhaps, who is using black sorcery against her."

"Sorcery," Susan had breathed, instinctively reaching for Peter's hand beside her. "Who could be doing such a thing? And against Lucy?"

His hand had trembled and there had been a flicker of uncertain fear in his expression, but then it had gone, replaced by kingly resolve.

"We'll send to Stormseer," he had said. "Windswift will take the message. He's the fastest of all our Falcons."

Edmund had glanced over at the motionless sleeper bundled up in the bed. "No matter how quickly we send, Stormseer may not answer for some time. That is if he sends us an answer at all. He doesn't command the stars or Aslan any more than we do. There must be something we can find out about this too."

His eyes had been darker than ever in his pale face, his expression stoic, unreadable. There had been a trace of sweat on his upper lip, but Susan had been sure that was caused by the excessive warmth of the room. The fire was kept blazing in here now, night and day, though it seemed to do Lucy little good. Nothing seemed to.

"It is the only course to follow," Sootquill had said. "There is nothing more we know to do, and we must do something or Her Majesty will slowly freeze to death."

Now a week had passed. A week since they had sent to Stormseer the Centaur. A week since the body of the Black Dwarf had been found. Lucy hadn't wakened at all since then.

Susan added more wood to the already roaring fire and patted the perspiration from her forehead. The room was sweltering, but, under half a dozen blankets, Lucy still shivered.

"How is she today, Su?" Peter asked, his voice low.

Susan turned to see her brothers stealing up to the bedside, both searching Lucy's almost-colorless face for any sign of change. There was none. There had been none.

"The same," Susan replied. "Always the same. Is the hearing over?"

Peter nodded.

Susan didn't like the look that passed between her brothers. "And what was the finding?"

"Willful murder." Edmund's smile was grim. "No surprise there, not with his neck snapped like that."

Peter sank into the chair next to Lucy's bedside. "They haven't charged anyone yet."

"You mean they haven't charged _me_ yet," Edmund said, still with that grim smile.

"There's no proof against you, Ed," Peter reminded him, sounding more weary than certain, and Edmund's smile faltered just the slightest bit.

"But I _am_ the most likely suspect, and I can't honestly say the idea of breaking the fool's neck didn't appeal to me right from the start. Admit it. If I weren't a King here, I'd already be charged." The smile turned into a smirk. "If I had been presiding today, I'd have charged me."

Susan searched his dark eyes. That was so like Edmund, the smirk, the black humor, the flicker of something behind them. Pain? Fear? Guilt? He wasn't hiding something, was he? It had been so long since he had betrayed them to the White Witch, surely he couldn't– But she hadn't thought he could possibly betray them that first time either.

No, she wouldn't think that of him. That had been ten years ago, when he had been just an angry, hurting, frightened child, seduced with lies and sweets and magic by the mistress of deception. Had he not proven himself over and over since that time? Had he not through years of patient toil won a reputation for truth and justice throughout Narnia and beyond? Had he not given himself over and over again, even to the point of death, for his kingdom? For his family? For Aslan?

She surprised him by dropping a kiss into his hair. "Then I'm glad you weren't presiding today."

There was something heartbreakingly grateful in his eyes before he hid it with a scowl. "Maybe it would be better if I were charged. At least that way we wouldn't have everyone thinking we're all covering something up."

"So we just won't mind what they think." She kept her voice crisp, allowing for no nonsense. "Some will think that no matter what you do."

He shrugged. "Nothing from Stormseer I suppose."

"No." Susan sighed. "Not a word yet. Nothing from Windswift either. All we know is that he reached Caldron Pool without any trouble."

"There has to be something else we can do." He pressed one hand to Lucy's white forehead. "Come on, Lu. Time to wake up now."

Lucy never stirred, and he caught a shuddering little breath before turning back to Susan, that grim smile once more on his face. "I, uh– There are some things I need to see to, if you'll both excuse me."

He touched his lips to Lucy's cheek and, before Susan or Peter could say anything, he was gone.

Susan turned to her older brother. "I assume he had rather a hard time at the hearing."

Peter nodded. "The rumors are getting worse. Some of the things that were said– It was rather brutal, to tell the truth."

"I hope you said something."

He shook his head vaguely. "What could I say?"

Susan pressed her lips together, not sure if she was confused, afraid or angry. "What could you say? Peter, you're the High King. You more than anyone know how important your support is in this. You know how important it is to _him_."

Peter winced, and she almost wanted to slap him for the bewildered look in his eyes. It was unfair, she knew it was, especially with him still fighting headaches and increasingly terrible nightmares, but she was tired of having to deal with that. She needed him to be strong. With Lucy so sick and with all the problems surrounding Edmund, she needed Peter to be the rock he had always been for her. She needed him to be the High King.

Instead, he just seemed, she couldn't precisely say what, almost dazed much of the time. If he hadn't had Sir Gilfrey's help, she wasn't sure Peter could have managed any of his duties.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. "Tell me about the hearing."

"Edmund did testify," Peter said. "He says he was looking for the Dwarf that day but never saw him again. The Badger who found the body remembers seeing Glawkin in the kitchens, and he remembers Edmund asking about him not too long afterwards, but that's all. One of the Robins remembers seeing the Dwarf near the stables, but no one else seems to have seen anything."

"And no one else had any reason to kill him? No one but Edmund?"

"No one we know of at this point."

"But that doesn't mean Edmund–"

"I know. I _know_." Peter rubbed his eyes. "I don't like to think it either, Su. I don't think it can be true, but it _is_ possible. We have to be logical about this."

"Be fair, too," Susan pled. "There's no proof he did it either."

"That's what people will think." Peter forced a tight smile. "But you're right. Glawkin was a nasty piece of work, if you ask me. There had to be lots of volunteers for the job of making away with him."

Susan knew the smile on her own face was no more convincing than his. "I'm sure there must have been. Edmund just couldn't–"

She was interrupted by a soft knock at the door and went to see who it was.

"Good afternoon, Fair Queen." Sir Gilfrey bowed and kissed her hand. "Pardon the disturbance, but I thought perhaps the High King– Ah, Your Majesty." He bowed this time to Peter. "About those ships. King Lune has confirmed that he never–"

"Tomorrow, Gil, all right?" Peter sighed, and for a moment he looked very, very young. "Can we let it wait till tomorrow?"

"As you say, My King. It is nothing that will not keep. I did wish to see how the Queen Lucy fares this afternoon."

Susan gave him a sad smile. "Not much different, I'm afraid, Sir Gilfrey. The healers can still find nothing wrong. We're awaiting word from Stormseer."

"Oh, I pray there is no dark magic in this, Lady. As I told the High King, it cannot be that anyone would practice such arts against the most beloved lady in all Narnia, unless it were someone taught by the White Witch herself. I cannot imagine one of her minions lying in wait all these years before suddenly deciding to act. And why now?"

Susan could only shake her head. "Perhaps Stormseer will tell us more."

The Knight smiled, all sympathy, and took her hand again. "Tell me, Lady, when did you last take rest?"

"I'm fine. Really. Lucy needs–"

"Lucy needs you to stay well," Peter said, his voice firm for once. "I think you should get some sleep. In a proper bed."

"I have slept," Susan insisted.

"Dozing in a chair doesn't count. I know you haven't been out of this room for at least three days." Peter looked at his friend. "Maybe she'll listen to you, Gil."

"To me, Majesty?" A touch of color came into the Knight's face, and his dark lashes fell to his cheeks. "I am the last to hold sway over our Sovereign Queen."

Susan smiled at him. He was terribly sweet.

"But if I might suggest, dear Queen," he continued, looking at her once more, "perhaps you should take just a moment or two away from here. A nice walk in the gardens?"

"No, I couldn't. Lucy–"

"That's an excellent idea, Su. Lucy will be fine," Peter said. "I'll stay with her until you come back."

"Really, Peter, I'd better not. If Stormseer sends word–"

"If he does, I will make sure you're the first to know." Peter turned to the Knight. "Gil, it is our wish as High King that the Queen Susan spend at least the next hour walking in the gardens and being taxed with nothing more than a few tales to make her smile. You'll see to that for me, won't you?"

"With great pleasure, My King." Sir Gilfrey bowed and offered Susan his arm. "If my Lady will be so kind?"

Again Susan smiled, but then she looked at Lucy lying so still and white on the bed. "But Peter–"

"Go now." Peter gave her a mock scowl. "That's a royal command."

He seemed so like her High King at that moment, she couldn't help a little bit of a giggle as she curtseyed. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"We must make sure you are wrapped up well, My Queen." Sir Gilfrey tucked her arm under his. "It is rather brisk out, but there are few things lovelier, your gracious self excepted, than sun on snow."

OOOOO

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

Edmund stopped short of reaching his own chambers, collecting himself before turning and looking down at the source of the piping little voice.

A tiny Vole in a bright purple vest made a flourishing bow before him. "Good afternoon, King Edmund."

"Hullo, Burrowbank. How are you today?"

"Very well, Your Majesty. I have been sent to ask if you would come out to the stable, if you are at leisure. There is someone there who would have talk with you."

Edmund looked at him warily, not much in the mood to be trifled with. "Someone? Who?"

"Your indulgence, Sire, but I've been asked to keep that to myself." His little black eyes gleamed with merriment. "This will please you, My King, or I will foreswear nuts entirely the rest of this winter long."

Edmund couldn't help a little bit of a smile. "And if it does please me, I promise you shall have more nuts than you and your whole family can hold. The rest of this winter long. Agreed?"

"Your Majesty is too kind. And we rather fancy walnuts."

Edmund chuckled. "I will bear that in mind."

With another bow, the Vole scampered away, and Edmund trudged towards the stable wondering who could possibly be waiting to see him. With his recent luck, it was probably someone who wanted to kill him or take him captive or, at the very least, accuse him of some heinous misdeed

He passed and was greeted with varying degrees of warmth by a dozen or more creatures along the way, and he laughed grimly. If his purpose was sinister, whoever was waiting for him hadn't picked a very private place.

He pushed open the stable door and squinted into the relative darkness. "Hello? Someone was looking for– "

"Edmund."

Edmund drew in a little breath, he didn't know if it was a laugh or a cry, and leapt forward with open arms.

"Phillip."

The chestnut Horse whickered softly and nuzzled Edmund's shoulder. "How good to see you, My King."

"Phillip." Edmund clung to his friend's sturdy neck, only just managing to keep from sobbing. "Phillip, you have no idea how much I've missed you. How are you?"

"Well, My King. Very well."

"And the fetlock?"

"Well now, too. I'm sorry I couldn't stay with the campaign this summer."

"That was a daft thing to do, Phillip, rushing in like that. It's a wonder you didn't have to have that leg taken off entirely." Edmund squeezed the Horse more tightly. "Thank you though. I really didn't want to die that day."

Phillip nibbled at the back of his hair. "And I didn't want you to."

"Still that was a nasty wound. Are you sure it's all right now?"

"It's been five months, My King. More. It's not a thing of beauty, but it's whole. We're neither of us strangers to scars."

"I thought you were staying with your herd in the south until spring."

"That was my plan, but then I thought I might be more needed here."

Edmund didn't say anything for a moment. "I– I suppose you've heard things. About me, I mean."

"I've heard nothing but nonsense, My King." The Horse blew out a loud, disdainful breath. "Nonsense from those who know no better."

He tickled the back of Edmund's neck with his whiskered muzzle, and Edmund twined his fingers into the silken mane.

"Maybe there are some who ought to know better," Edmund said, his voice very soft as he pressed in closer. "Some I had hoped would anyway."

"Things will come right in time," the Horse soothed. "How long has it been since you've done nothing but enjoy yourself for an hour or so?"

"I . . . uh . . . "

"That's what I thought. Will you come for a ride, My King?"

This time there was nothing but pure pleasure in Edmund's smile. "Any idea where we can find some walnuts? I'm going to need a lot of them."

OOOOO

"And that, Fair Queen, is why the Goats and the Pigeons will never agree about that particular bend in the river."

Susan laughed and held Sir Gilfrey's arm just a bit tighter. "I never know how much of your tales to believe."

"Why, all of them, Lady, I assure you, are no less than pure truth."

She laughed again, seeing a teasing glimmer in his dark eyes. It was good to laugh, and Sir Gilfrey was very easy to laugh with. He sometimes reminded her so much of Ed–

"What is it, Lady? You look suddenly sad."

She smiled again, this time not very brightly. "It's nothing. I ought to go back now. I'm sure it's been much more than an hour."

He patted the hand that rested on his arm. "If you insist, My Queen, though I'm sure if there were any change in Her Majesty your sister or any news from Caldron Pool, the High King would have sent for you."

She looked into the clear winter sky, into the northwest, certain she would see nothing there. Not what she needed to see, at any rate. The Knight looked as well, squinting into the late-afternoon sun, and then he drew a startled breath.

"Look there, Lady. Just below those clouds."

"Oh." She clutched his arm more tightly. "Could it be Windswift at last?"

They watched as the Falcon soared towards them, fleet and sure, closer and closer. Then there was a hissing whoosh from out of the trees at the edge of the forest, and Windswift hurtled to the ground, staining the snow red, a black arrow through his heart..

Susan shrieked, hiding her face against the Knight's shoulder, but he immediately pulled away from her.

"Stay here, Lady, and stay behind cover."

Sir Gilfrey called to the guards who were stationed outside the garden wall, and they hurried out into the meadow. A few minutes later, Sir Gilfrey returned, the body of the noble Falcon cradled in his hands.

"I'm sorry, My Queen. There was nothing to be done for him."

Susan stroked the sleek feathered head, still warm, wetting it with her tears. She looked up at Sir Gilfrey.

"Did he bring a message?"

"There is something tied to his leg, My Queen. Perhaps we should go to the High King before we open it."

Susan looked back towards the trees. "Who could have–"

"I have sent men to search, Lady. They will find whoever has done this and bring him to justice."

OOOOO

Susan watched her older brother's grave face as he cut the string that held the strip of parchment to the Falcon's leg. With a glance at her and at Lucy still lying unmoving on her bed, he unrolled the paper.

He grimaced as he began to read, and she wondered if that was habit now, in anticipation of the pain trying to concentrate seemed to give him these days, but then his face changed. The grimace turned into disbelief. Then dread.

"Where's Edmund?"

Susan looked at the baffled Knight beside her and back at Peter. "I don't know. He said he had something he had to see to. I– "

He crumpled the parchment into his fist and strode over to the open door. "Leander!"

The Cheetah guarding the corridor snapped to attention. "Your Majesty?"

"Get someone to find King Edmund. Now."

"Certainly, Sire. I hear he's gone riding."

"Where?"

"I believe in the wood west of here, Sire."

"Find him. Take some of the soldiers with you. Find him now. Bring him here."

The Cheetah bowed. "At once, Majesty."

The Cat darted off, and Peter stalked back to where Susan and Sir Gilfrey were standing. She couldn't recall when she had seen her brother so infuriated.

"Peter, what–"

He slapped the parchment onto the table next to the dead Falcon. Susan's hands trembled as she picked it up. She had to steady herself against the table once she had read it through.

"Oh, Peter, no. No."

_Stormseer of Caldron Pool to the High King Peter with the blessings of the Great Lion who sent this vision: I saw a great eyrie set in a cliff above the sea, and in it were four eggs. From three of them hatched Eagles, but from the fourth came an Adder, and they were all nestmates together. One day, in his anger, the Adder did sting the young Eagles with his fangs, but afterward he wept and repented his evil and swore oaths to never again do them wrong. And because the Adder was their own and but young, the Eagles thought him no harm and shared with him their nest and all they had. But one day, when the Adder was full grown and his venom at its most potent, the sun rose upon that nest to find only the Adder in it. For, despite his oaths, he was an Adder still._

**Author's Note: Special thanks to OldFashionedGirl95, especially for naming Sootquill, my dear old Owl, and for tons of brainstorming, and to Laura Andrews for being a fresh pair of eyes. You're both a tremendous help. Bless you!**

–**WD**


	6. Traducement

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

TRADUCEMENT

"I pray you, calm yourself, My King. You mustn't assume anything without proof. Sometimes these prophecies are not at all what they at first seem."

"Sir Gilfrey is right." Tears stood in Susan's eyes. "We have to think about this logically, Peter. Without proof–"

"Proof?" Peter shoved the dead Falcon towards her, hot blood throbbing in his temples, pounding inside him. "Ask him about proof."

"We don't know Edmund was involv–"

"Don't we, Su? On top of everything else that's been happening, don't we really?" Peter clutched the table, almost blinded with the pain in his head. _Edmund. Edmund. How could you?_ He forced his voice to calm, forced his expression into some measure of control. If only he could force his thoughts into clarity, too. "Gil, uh, I want you to take some of our soldiers and make a thorough search of Edmund's chamber. If he's hiding anything, I want to–"

"Me?" Gil's dark eyes were wide. "Oh, no, I beg you, Sire, let it not be me. If there is any such proof, and I cannot believe it true of the brother of Your High Majesty, would it not be better if you saw it with your own eyes? Or, better still, saw there was no such thing to be found? I beseech you, My King. Go yourself. And Her Majesty as well. Set your minds at ease on this matter at the least."

"Lucy needs–" Susan began, but Peter cut her off.

"Cerise or one of the other healers can stay with Lucy for now. It's important that you and I both go. We have to know for certain."

Diplomacy. Cunning. Guile. Sneakiness, Edmund liked to call it, and he always seemed rather pleased with himself over it, too. He had used his sharp wits on behalf of his brother and sisters, on behalf of his kingdom, more times than Peter could remember. Was he using it against them now? And if he was, would he be foolish enough to leave behind evidence of it? Or did he think his family so utterly beguiled and for so long that he had grown careless of such things?

Peter wiped the sweat from his upper lip. He had to get out of this suffocating room. He was burning from the inside out.

Gil was right. Gil was always right. Peter had to see for himself what Edmund was hiding. Maybe, somehow, there really wouldn't be anything. He didn't want there to be anything. Oh, please, let there not be anything.

"Send for Oreius, Gil. Tell him to bring three or four of his best soldiers along with him to Edmund's chamber. Make sure at least one of them is a Dog." Peter looked down at the limp, bloody mass of feathers there on the table. "And have him send someone to bury our Falcon with as much honor as may be."

His eyes all sympathy, the Knight bowed.

OOOOO

Edmund stood just inside the door of his chamber, a discarded bag of walnuts at his feet. Everything in the room had been pulled apart, opened, pawed through, exposed. His personal possessions and private papers were all set out. His feather bed with all the bedclothes lay on the floor. His wardrobe stood with the doors flung open, his clothes and boots piled everywhere. Even some of the floorboards had been taken up. This couldn't be happening.

The twin Tigers from Peter's guard sat ramrod straight at Edmund's right and left. The Gryphon stood in the doorway behind him, grim and silent. He knew them as friends and fellow soldiers and was used to having them nearby, but not like this. Not keeping him under watch.

Susan sat on a little footstool by the fireplace, her heavy skirts swirled around her feet, her graceful white hands folded in her lap, her eyes closed, her head bowed, silent tears flowing down her pale cheeks.

Oreius stood at the other side of the room, near the balcony that looked out towards the great Western Wood, stoic and still. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his dark eyes were fixed on the space just above Edmund's head. Beside him, golden and terrible in the sunlight that poured from the windows, stood the High King. Edmund had to force himself to face those blazing blue eyes and not look away. The only thing worse would be looking at the growing collection of letters and documents laid out on the desk, weighted with a gleaming ruby the size of a pigeon egg and red as blood.

"I believe that is all, Your Majesty." The sad-eyed Hound bowed his head. "Shall I check again?"

"That's enough, good Sagepaw." Peter nodded briefly. "We thank you for your aid."

"Go now, all of you," Oreius ordered his soldiers at a signal from the High King, "and keep what you have seen here to yourselves."

Soon only he, the two Kings and the Queen were left in the room.

"Your guard is within the sound of your call," the Centaur told Peter, and he, too, left, shutting the door after himself, never once looking towards Edmund.

Then Edmund was alone with his brother and sister and the crushing silence. The younger King kept his eyes fixed on his brother's, hard as it was not to look away from the cold fury that was there.

"Tell us, Edmund." Peter's voice was soft, carefully controlled, taut as piano wire. "What is all this?"

"I don't know." Edmund's heart pounded inside him. "None of it is mine. None of it."

Peter picked up the ruby, turning it so it glimmered in the light. "I suppose you have the Dwarf's gold stashed somewhere, too. I hope it was enough to be worth murdering for."

"Peter . . ."

"And our friend Windswift. He did nothing but carry a message. Pity the message got through anyway, isn't it?"

"I didn't even have a bow with me today."

The High King's face was flint. "One was found abandoned in that part of the forest along with a quiver full of black-fletched arrows."

"I was with Phillip the whole time. We were gathering walnuts."

Ignoring Edmund's pleading expression, Peter took one of the papers from the desk and glanced over it again. "Among other things. Like arranging for ships that would eventually be sent to Calormen, giving them strength enough to attack Archenland by land and sea at once. Lune's practically been a father to us all, and you'd sell him out? As you did your soldiers?"

"I didn't–"

"Explain this, Edmund." Peter picked up a tattered old book and shoved it into Edmund's chest. "Strange it should be marked at a spell for freezing someone to death."

Susan dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, Edmund."

Edmund shook his head. "I was just–"

"And don't tell me that's not your handwriting there in the notes."

"It is, Peter. Of course it is. I was trying to research what sort of spell might be being used against Lucy and how to counter it. I told you-"

"And this?" Peter's lips trembled, Edmund didn't know if it was from fury or disbelief, as he picked up one of the letters from the pile. It was written in intricate Calormene script, beautifully wrought. "I'm sorry, Susan, but you must read this one."

Susan lifted weary, red-rimmed eyes to his. "No more, Peter. Please. We've been over and over all of this. I can't–"

"You have to."

Peter gave her the letter, and as she read, her face went from pale to fiery red.

Edmund looked at her, baffled. "What is it?"

Standing, she wadded the paper into her hand and struck him full force across the mouth with it. Then she let it flutter to the floor. Without another word, she left the room.

"Susan!" Edmund flinched as she slammed the door behind her, and then turned back to his brother, wiping a trickle of blood from his stinging lips. "I don't–"

"Read it." Peter seized the paper and thrust it into Edmund's hand. "If you want to carry on pretending you don't know what it says, go ahead and read it."

Edmund could hardly focus on the words, but he forced himself to read what was written there.

_Ekrem Tarkaan to the Most Excellent and Just King Edmund of Narnia, in the name of Tash the irresistible, the inexorable, greetings and good fortune. Be it known to you that I have received your most agreeable offer. Here in our desert land, such fair beauty is rare, and I will happily pay all that you ask, to the last minim, so I might myself possess it. That our bargain clears your own path to happiness makes my delight all the greater, for has not one of the poets said, "Shared benefit smooths the way to friendship as bloodshed smooths the way to a throne"? The Tisroc (may he live forever) has himself praised you before all the gods for your wisdom, discretion and boldness. Seeing how you have turned your opportunities to advantage, I see he speaks no less than true. Calormen will have a firm ally when you alone rule Narnia. Accept my felicitations on your coming marriage to your gentle Queen, for as you have said, her beauty is beyond that of mortals and no man can live long in her presence and not desire it for himself. Indeed, did not our own great Tash marry his sister Zardeenah? No doubt they will bless your union and bring prosperity to your land. Send word when I may expect delivery of your golden-haired King, and payment will be awaiting you. May we each be happy in having what we wish for and be favored by Tash himself._

Edmund read it over three times before it all sunk in. _Your gentle Queen. Your golden-haired King._ Susan and Peter couldn't think he–

"How long have you been planning this?" Peter demanded. "How long? A year? More?"

"I haven't–"

"How long have you been after Susan?"

Peter's voice dripped with disgust, and Edmund shook his head violently.

"Never. Peter, she's our sister. I swear I've never once thought of her as anything else. I'd never do anything to harm either of you. What do you think I am?"

"I don't know." Peter pressed one hand to the side of his head and took a wary step back. "I don't know what you are. I don't know what to think. You'd force Susan into some abomination of a marriage? You'd _sell_ me to–"

"No!" Edmund grabbed his brother's shoulders, shaking him. "You have to listen to me. You have to! It's not true. None of it."

Again Peter drew back. "Then explain all this. Explain it."

"I– I don't know, Peter. I swear it, I don't know. It's all a plot. Someone has set this up to turn you against me. I never–"

"How would anyone else even know about EkremTarkaan?"

Edmund remembered the look of anger and revulsion that had been on his brother's face when they had last gone to Tashbaan. He remembered the covetous Tarkaan eyeing Peter, lamenting the rarity of golden hair and sky-colored eyes in his country. And he remembered wanting to slit the pig's depraved throat when Peter told him later that the Tarkaan had suggested more than a political alliance.

"I never told anyone." Peter looked at Edmund with that same anger and revulsion now. "I never told anyone what he said to me but you."

"Peter–"

"No one, Edmund. Only you. Only my trusty and well-beloved brother. My King." His eyes brimmed with sudden tears. "My dearest friend."

"Please, Peter, you have to believe me–"

"I _have _believed you!"

The tears spilled down Peter's cheeks now, and Edmund felt his own well up.

"I have believed you," Peter said agin, scrubbing his hand across his wet face. "I've believed you and excused you and not wanted to see the truth. It's too late for that now. It's too late for any of it."

"No. No, it's not. Not yet. Stop and think. Just listen to me." He clutched Peter's arm. "Remember–" Edmund hesitated. He hadn't spoken of this since that day. "Remember when we were on the beach? That day the Dwarf was in court?"

Peter's eyes flashed. "You swore–"

"I did. And I've kept that oath. I'll keep it still, I swear. But here between you and me, Peter, have you considered that maybe you're not thinking clearly now? Perhaps–"

"Don't." Peter jerked his arm free. "Don't dare suggest all this is due to madness in me and not treachery in you."

"Peter, I swear it's all a lie. All of it. I swear by Aslan Himself, I haven't done any of this."

"By Aslan?" Peter's laugh was bitter and hollow. "You play in black sorcery to try to kill Lucy and expect me to believe an oath before the Lion means anything to you?"

Peter may as well have struck him, too.

"Prove it." Edmund's breath caught, and he pressed his trembling lips together. "Prove that one thing, and I'll grant you all the rest. May as well, if you think I could be false to Aslan."

Peter wavered for a moment, but then his expression hardened again. "Did Aslan ever mean anything to you, or was it all a lie? All these years? Everything? Everything we've been through together? I'd have died for you, Edmund. I'd have done anything for you. Anything. And now–"

"Peter, it's been ten years since I went to Jadis. Ten. Years. I'm sorry for it still, believe me, but that was the last of it. Aslan forgave me. I thought you had, too. What do I have to do to prove I'm not what I was? What haven't I done already?"

A tear slipped down his cheek, and Peter reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

"'Afterward he wept and repented his evil and swore oaths to never again do them wrong.'"

His voice was soft, heavy with grief, and with a low cry, Edmund threw his arms around him, ducking his head against his shoulder.

"Peter, it's a lie! It's a lie!"

After a moment, he felt Peter's arms go around him, felt his hand stroking his hair.

"Shh, Eddie," he whispered. "I suppose we can't help being what we are."

"No," Edmund sobbed against him. "No, no, no, no. Peter, no."

"We can't help being what we are," Peter repeated, his voice calm and grave. "No more than we can help doing what we must."

"Please, Peter, stop and think before you do anything. I would never hurt you or the girls. I lo–"

"Don't." There was something harsh and hurt in that word, and then Peter's voice was calm and grave once more. "Don't lie to me anymore, Edmund. Ten years is enough."

His movements cool and deliberate, he took Edmund's arms from around himself and stepped back. And at that moment, Edmund knew he was lost.

OOOOO

It was well past midnight, but Edmund hadn't bothered to undress. He knew he wouldn't sleep. Not with a Wolf lying in front of his door and a Hawk perched atop his wardrobe, their eyes fixed on him, gleaming red in the flickering hearth light. Not with a Bat hanging at the top of the curtain behind his bed, listening for any hint of treachery. Whoever had chosen them for this duty had chosen well. Each of them had lost someone dear to him at Lantern Waste.

Edmund sat huddled on the floor, leaning against the foot of his bed, staring into the fire. It had burned down to little more than embers, but he didn't bother to put more wood on it. Nothing could warm him this night. Not with those screams coming from the room across the corridor.

As they had several times during the past hour, the screams broke off. Edmund exhaled heavily and rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes, trembling with sheer exhaustion.

"Aslan, where are You?" he whispered. "Aslan, please."

He jerked as the screams began again, hoarse and terrified. He knew the sound too well. More and more he had heard it these past few weeks. In the small hours of the night, he had heard it and had gone to soothe it into silence. But despite his pleas, tonight he was not allowed to offer any comfort.

Tonight, Peter would battle his nightmares alone.

**Author's Note: Once more, I owe great thanks to OldFashionedGirl95, especially for naming Sagepaw, my Hound, for the Calormene aphorism, for the most clever plot with the ships, and for brainstorming lots of stuff, and to Laura Andrews for reading and not passing out. You're both awesome!**

–**WD**


	7. Deviltry

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

DEVILTRY

Susan smiled as she blotted the film of perspiration from her sister's white forehead.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yes, My Queen." The Cherry Dryad healer smiled, too, and removed the topmost of the blankets covering her patient. "We can start letting the room cool. Not all at once, mind you, but little by little."

"Does that mean the spell is broken?"

Susan turned at the grim voice, her smile fading. "Peter."

Cerise made a deep curtsy, a faint tinge of pink in her delicate cheeks as she looked on the High King. "I cannot say for certain, Sire, but I believe so. Queen Lucy is warmer now. She's been improving since yesterday afternoon."

"Has she said anything?"

"No, My King. She has not yet awakened, but we have every hope–"

"Thank you."

He leaned down and kissed Lucy's cheek and then stroked the back of his fingers against it. His hand shook as he did.

Susan could tell by the deep purple shadows under his eyes and the pinched set of his mouth that he hadn't slept. She wasn't surprised. She hadn't slept much herself, not after the terrible cries she had heard from his room last night. The worst of it had lasted little more than an hour, an hour, she suspected, of being wakened from harrowing dreams and then sleeping again only to fall back into the same horrors as before. Someone had wakened him again and again, his valet or one of his guards no doubt, but Edmund was the only one who could truly calm him on such nights. And Edmund–

"Still, it's good news," Susan said, trying to smile again.

"Yes." Peter stood staring at Lucy's still face, his expression blank. "Yes, of course it is."

"I'm so glad, Your Majesty." The Dryad tilted her head a little to one side, trying to catch his eye. "I know how dear Queen Lucy is to you, to all of us, and I would–"

"Yes, thank you." His voice was as empty as his expression. "Would you excuse us please, Cerise?"

With a sigh soft as a breeze through cherry blossoms, the Dryad made another deep curtsy and left the room.

"She's been here with Lucy almost as much as I have," Susan said. "We'll have to do something especially nice to thank her for all she's done."

Peter didn't respond, so she went to him and put her arm through his, nestling against his side. Then she pulled back and put her hand on his forehead.

"You feel warm. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He shrugged away from her. "It's just hot in here as always."

She wasn't convinced, but she let it go, instead managing a smile as she glanced at their sister there on the bed. "Nice to have good news for a change."

"If only it were," he said half under his breath.

"Of course it's good news. Lucy's getting better."

"Yes, of course it is. But, Su, have you thought about it? After she's been sick all this time, why is she suddenly better now? Why just now?"

She sank into a chair, unable to stand anymore. "Yes, I've thought about it. She's been getting better ever since you took that terrible book of spells away from Edmund."

"Exactly."

"I still can't believe it all. Dark magic? It's not only against Lucy, but against Aslan Himself."

"I always thought he was about as close to Aslan as she is." Peter sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Lucy's cheek once more. "But it must have all been an act. Like everything else."

"Everything else." Susan bit her lip, trying not to think of everything else, the bribes, the murders, that horrible letter–

"I had him moved out of his quarters to that little room down the hall. It's small, but it's still comfortable. He knows too much about all the secret places in the Cair to be left where he was, even under guard."

Susan nodded. "What are we going to do?"

The pain in Peter's expression hardened into resolve. "There will have to be a trial. Even if he is our brother and a King, justice must be seen to be done." He laughed faintly and rubbed the side of his head. "Who in the world am I going to get to preside over the case? Who ought to handle something this important but the Just King? Oh, Edmund."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and she took his hand.

"After all these years, how could he?" In spite of her efforts, her voice quivered. "And I'm still not sure I understand why."

"An Adder can't help being an Adder, Su, even if it wants you to think it's an Eagle."

And there was such hopeless grief in Peter's face, she had to look away.

OOOOO

A Raven, a Lynx and a Naiad. Peter had chosen well. Edmund knew all three of them to be wise and impartial judges well schooled in Narnian law. He had seen each of them soften the law with mercy when it was warranted, too. They would hear the evidence and rule on it fairly, he had no doubt. But what evidence?

The charges brought against him were supported with an ingenious mixture of skewed truths and blatant falsehoods. When he had actually been present at the place and time charged, his reason for being there was twisted into something dark and evil, his own words cast in a sinister light. If a particular claim had been fashioned out of whole cloth, and there were enough of those as well, the incident was always alleged to have occurred when he had no verifiable alibi. Someone had planned all this out very carefully.

There were a few who tried to speak on his behalf, a Tabby Cat who had given birth to her six Kittens in the bottom of his wardrobe and the trio of Mice who tailored his clothes, each of whom could only speak as to Edmund's character and not the specifics of the case, and his Faun valet who was adamant that he had never seen any of the evidence in Edmund's possession before the day it was all uncovered, but they were all dismissed as irrelevant. Phillip, who might have testified as to Edmund's whereabouts the day the Falcon was murdered, had left Cair Paravel that same day with no word of where he was going or why. Edmund tried to keep himself from thinking his faithful Horse had abandoned him along with everyone else.

The witnesses against Edmund were as varied as the charges. A Swallow and a Boar, the one from Glasswater Creek and the other from near Beaversdam and apparent strangers to each other, both confirmed that they had seen him arguing with the Black Dwarf Glawkin out in the forest the day the Dwarf disappeared. A Faun and two Wolfhounds, all from the troop that had served under him in Lantern Waste, claimed to have been sent with sealed dispatches from the Just King's own hand to a Minotaur, the same Minotaur who had led the charge that had killed or maimed so many of his soldiers and lost them hard-won ground that had never again been regained. Peter's guard, Oreius and Sagepaw the Hound each testified to uncovering evidence of treachery in Edmund's quarters. Several others appeared, each with a damning bit of testimony to add to the pile.

The worst by far was the Hag.

The High King had sent word throughout the kingdom summoning to court anyone with information to give concerning the charges against King Edmund. The Hag, assured of safe conduct from her cave deep in the Western March to Cair Paravel and back again, had appeared on the final day of testimony.

She came limping into the court, hunched over, wraithlike, her skin reddish and wrinkled, only a few wisps of gray hair on her shriveled head.

"I remember you." She leered at Edmund as she passed. "I see you've grown tall and handsome, just as she expected you would."

He returned her bold gaze, wondering if he actually remembered her, but he couldn't say for certain. He had seen so many horrors while he was the Witch's prisoner. Peter was watching her, too, watching her with him, searching for some connection between them no doubt.

She made a mocking curtsey before the High King. "How lovely of Your Majesty to invite the humblest of his subjects to his palace."

"You're none of ours, Hag. You're here to speak truth and only truth as you value your life."

She curtseyed even lower, an almost-smile on her beaklike mouth. "As Your Fair Majesty says, if you will have it of me."

With a glance at Edmund, Peter nodded.

"Know then that I once served the White Lady, Jadis, the true Queen of Narnia. History belongs to the victors, so I know of the tales that have sprung up since the kingdom was stolen from her, but the truth is this: One day, years ago, she found a child wandering in her woods, an angel-faced imp of a boy, and she thought how lovely it would be to at last have a son of her own. She gave the child food and drink and warmed him in her own furs and offered to make him her little Prince and eventually King after her. All this he accepted readily, and he brought his brother and sisters, Children of the Prophecy, into her realm so they might not later become a hindrance to her."

Edmund felt his face heat, but he said nothing. The Hag had so far kept more or less to the truth.

"This is all well known," Peter told her, eyes cold. "Why do you speak of it now?"

"Because, High Majesty, not _all_ is well known." Again the Hag leered at Edmund. "Once our little Prince had made his way back to our Queen, she taught him much of her powerful magic. She taught him spells and curses and unbreakable bindings, and he took to it as eager as a snake to a warm rock. And when he thought himself learned enough, he tried to turn that magic back against her. He wanted to be King at once, not Prince, and she had no choice but to fight against him and take him captive."

Edmund could only listen in stunned silence.

"It was then, High Majesty, that he was taken from us and brought to the Enemy's camp, the camp of the Lion." The Hag clasped her gnarled hands in front of her. "I hear there was a touching reunion when the wanderer was brought home to his loved ones, repentant and never again to stray. No doubt he learned from his earlier impetuousness and decided it were best to wait until he had reached full manhood before again trying his strength and taking the kingdom. No doubt he held himself in patience until the time became ripe and all of you thought he was to be trusted beyond question."

"It's not true," Edmund breathed.

But Peter wasn't looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the Hag, and she only swayed towards him, her gimlet eyes bright.

"Did you think he broke my Queen's wand to try to save you? He destroyed it to break her power, but he wasn't quick enough yet and she had her revenge. Once that filthy cordial brought him back to life and he lay helpless before you, he knew his best course was to dissemble and wait. Wait until his skills were well sharpened and he was fully prepared. But it seems another prophecy has spoiled that plan, too."

Edmund shook his head. "Peter, it's not true."

"Traitor!" The Hag pointed a skinny, clawed finger at him. "She had every right to your blood. Do you think she cared if you betrayed your family or the Lion? Your treachery was against her, and for that she demanded a kill." She gave another vulture-like grin. "And yet she is dead and here you stand, alive and as false as ever you were all those years ago. It's in the blood, isn't it? There's no denying what's in the blood. False to your family, false to the Lion, false to my Queen!"

"Peter–"

Face ashen, Peter held up one hand to silence his brother and the murmuring court. "Have you anything more to say, Hag?"

Once again, she answered with a deep curtsey. "That is all, High Majesty. Learn from my Lady's woes what you may. I hear Queen Lucy is the first of your kin to be affected by his particular arts."

Peter nodded to the two Satyrs on guard, and they moved to either side of the Hag.

"Why?" Edmund asked before she could be escorted out.

She smirked as she led the Satyrs away. "You betrayed my Queen. Why should I not tell of it?"

And he could see that Peter believed her.

OOOOO

"A Hag? My Liege Lord and King, _a Hag_?" Sir Gilfrey looked at Peter, disbelief on his face. "Even with the mounting evidence, you'd not take the word of a Hag over your own brother's."

"It's not that, Gil." Peter took a deep drink from his goblet, glad there was at least something that, if only temporarily, eased the ache in his head. "What she said, impossible as it sounds, explains everything."

He closed his eyes. Why did that have to make sense when nothing else seemed to?

"But surely, Sire, King Edmund can refute–"

"That's just it. He can't. He hasn't a shred of hard evidence against any of the charges. He merely denies them."

Peter got up from his desk and flung open the doors to the balcony, savoring the winter air on his face. How could Lucy have spent so long freezing when everywhere he went was so unbearably hot?

"What will you do, My King?"

"What can I do?" He turned back to the Knight, wishing it was Edmund he was talking to about charges against someone else. Anyone else. "He's my brother."

"Indeed he is, My King." Gil poured him a little more wine. "And how is my lady Queen Lucy today?"

"She's much better. I think the spell must still be weakening. She hasn't awakened yet, but ever since . . . "

Peter left the rest unsaid. Lucy had been getting better ever since Edmund had been put under guard. Her temperature had returned to normal. Now she only slept.

"I am glad to know she is improving, Sire. I know you would do anything to protect her and our fair Queen Susan from harm."

"Of course I would. They're my sisters."

"Indeed they are, My King."

Peter sat again at his desk and stared into his wine. He would. He would do anything to protect Susan and Lucy. Even if it meant he had to protect them from Edmund.

He rubbed his eyes and then dropped his head into his hands. What _was_ he going to do?

He thought of Lucy lying still and pale, day after day, the light and life frozen out of her. He thought of Susan, her gentle spirit crushed by being forced into an unholy marriage. And he thought of himself sold into detestable bondage in far away Tashbaan, unable to protect either of them from those fates.

He thought, too, of Edmund who had planned such things against them, thought of him sitting before the court listening to everything that was said about him, pleading with those dark, expressive eyes of his, pleading to be believed, to be trusted, to be loved.

He drained his cup in one gulp. If nothing else, years of practice had made Edmund an accomplished liar.

"What will you do?" Gilfrey asked. "If, as you say, this Hag spoke truth, there is a great danger not only to the kingdom but to Your Majesty and to our gracious Queens. Sorcery and murder and treason? There is only one penalty for such high crimes."

"I know. If he's found guilty–"

"If, My Liege? But you know already, do you not?"

Peter closed his eyes. Trusty and well beloved. Brother and King and dearest friend. Sorcerer, murderer, traitor. _Oh, Edmund._

"What will you do, My King?" Gilfrey pressed, and Peter laid his head on the desk, drawing hard breaths, hoping not to be sick.

"I don't know. I don't know."

"Of course you know, Sire." The Knight's words were soft and infinitely reasonable. "You are the High King. You will do what you must."

Peter nodded. Gil was right. Gil was always right. He would do what he must.

He was the High King.

OOOOO

Edmund had seen it in his brother's eyes. Yesterday, when the Hag had finished her testimony and the judges had gone to confer, he'd seen it. On top of every other heinous charge, Peter believed him false to Aslan, false to the glorious Lion who had saved him and forgiven him and laid down His own life so that Edmund need not die. Peter believed it. After that, there was nothing more to be said. So Edmund said nothing more.

It had been hard enough to see Susan briefly testifying before the court, her voice so low it was difficult to hear her speak and sometimes so choked with tears she could not speak at all. Now the Gentle Queen merely sat waiting, dry eyed, looking away from him, her face white and cold as marble.

It had been torture to watch as Peter listened to witness after witness accuse him of every kind of deviltry, torture to strain to hear Peter speak a word in his defense and hear nothing. Now the High King also sat, his mouth set in grim lines, his eyes empty, waiting with all the court for the verdict from the Raven, the Lynx and the Naiad.

Finally it came. At a nod from Peter, the old Raven spoke.

"Before we announce our decision, we wish to say that it has grieved each of us to preside at such a hearing and to sit in judgement of our Just King. But we are mere servants of this realm, and it is our duty to render a fair verdict based solely upon the facts presented before us." He looked at the Lynx and then at the Naiad who nodded gravely in return. Then he faced Edmund. "If Your Majesty would be so good as to rise."

Edmund felt his legs shake under him, wondered briefly if they would support his weight, but managed to stand straight in spite of them.

After what seemed an eternity of silence, Peter again nodded at the judge.

"There have been many charges brought here before us," the Raven croaked. "There are the murders of Glawkin, the Black Dwarf, and of the Falcon, Windswift. There is the betrayal of the kingdom for gain, specifically in the matters of the Calormene ships and the battle at Lantern Waste. There are the actions, whether proposed or implemented, against the persons of the High King Peter, the Queen Susan and the Queen Lucy. More than all of these, there is the practice of black sorcery which is directly against the great Aslan Himself, a practice that is not seemly whether here in Narnia or elsewhere in all the worlds. In all of these, we find King Edmund guilty."

Edmund clutched the table that stood at his right hand, afraid he might fall without its support.

"As he is a King," the Raven continued, "it is beyond our authority to pronounce sentence upon him. For that, only the High King has the right."

His face expressionless, his eyes still empty, the High King stood. The three judges bowed to him, and there was perfect silence in the court.

The only penalty for such crimes was death.

**Author's Note: Thanks yet again to OldFashionedGirl95 for her tremendous and wonderful brainstorming and prose poking. Bless you, dear one!**

–**WD**


	8. Treachery

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

TREACHERY

Edmund stood looking up at the night sky and thought how much Lucy loved the stars. He couldn't remember now if she had loved those other stars, the English ones from so long ago, but they were brighter here in Narnia. He was certain of it. It was hard to see much through the little barred window, but he could see the stars, even two of the three that made up the tail of the Leopard. Lucy loved the Leopard.

How was she now? All this time she had been ill had been torture for him, just as he knew it had been for his brother and older sister, but none of the guards was permitted to tell him anything about Lucy. No doubt those who were wise in such matters had advised it, fearing he would cast another spell on her if he knew her current condition.

He paced the ten feet from one wall of his cell to the other and then back again, his fists clenched at his sides. It was beyond belief that anyone could think he would do anything to hurt her. To hurt Susan or Peter. To betray sweet Narnia. To go against the Lion. He didn't know how he could love any of them more deeply, more fiercely than he did or give them any more of himself than he already had.

Had all he had done these past ten years meant nothing? When he had lived as best he was able to please Aslan? When he had used every bit of wit and intelligence he possessed to bring justice to his people? When he had risked his own life time and again to protect his sisters' lives and honor? When he had stood with his brother on the battlefield or held the life blood in his body with shaking hands until healers or Lucy's cordial could make him whole again?

He looked at his scarred wrists, scarred like Peter's, remembering the many times they had been imprisoned together, beaten and bound and yet unbowed, each strengthened with the presence of the other and the peace of Aslan. There was an old Narnian litany they had often repeated when things looked particularly grim. Usually Peter would begin it and Edmund would answer him, back an forth, one to the other, their voices soft and strong and unwavering until their harsh surroundings faded in the light of the Lion.

His cell here at Cair Paravel wasn't dank or even dark. It was secure, it was small, but it was certainly not durance vile. Yet he found himself somehow longing for those times when he had been in more desperate confinement and yet not alone. When his brother had stood with him and not against him. When he had known beyond doubt that he was trusted. When he had known he was loved.

_Oh, Aslan, how has it come to this?_

He fingered the faded marks around his wrist. "And bonds could not hold Him . . ."

He whispered the words, instinctively waiting for the response, but Peter was not here to give it. Finally, eyes closed, he forced himself to carry on alone.

". . . for He is freedom. And fear could not hold Him, for He is peace. And sorrow could not hold Him . . . "

He drew a shuddering breath and bowed his head. Then he looked again through the window, clutching the bars. The stars were blurred now, each a haloed supernova in the night sky.

"Aslan, where are You? Am I not still Yours? Or have You disowned me, too?"

His grip tightened, and he pressed his face against the bars, feeling a fresh trickle of warmth on his cold face.

"The Lion roars, we do not fear, for the Kings belong to Him."

He whispered the words, the words of the song that had often brought peace and comfort in trying times. He remembered Peter's clear voice taking the melody and his own weaving the litany's words in countermelody below that. They were words of strength, words of faith and courage, but without a melody, what was the good of a countermelody?

With another hard breath, he tried again. "Between His paws– we boldly stand– for the Kings belong– Oh, Aslan, do I still belong to you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and again his grip on the cold bars tightened. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would stand before his brother, his High King, and be condemned to death.

And Aslan was silent.

OOOOO

The walk to the audience chamber at Cair Paravel had never seemed so long before now. Dressed in his kingly best even to the gleaming sword at his hip, Edmund was flanked by a Satyr and a Stag, both of them stern and silent. Before he left his cell, he had asked one last time to speak privately to Peter and was denied. He had sent word to Susan, begging her to come to him, and that, too, was denied. He didn't bother to ask again about Lucy. It was very likely he would never see her again.

There was nothing to do now but take the adventure that fell to him. That Aslan sent? He didn't know now. Had the Lion denied him as well? _The Kings belong to Him. _Even now, he was still a King.

They turned the last corner, he and the Satyr and the Stag, and he caught a glimpse of Burrowbank in his bright purple vest. The little jet eyes flashed recognition and then the Vole ducked his head and darted away. Edmund bit his lip. Despite all the turmoil that day he had first been put under guard, he had still remembered his promise and sent the Vole his bag of walnuts. Once the guilty verdict had been announced, the walnuts had been returned without comment. Edmund needed no explanation. Accepting gifts from sorcerers, murderers and traitors was always unwise.

Between the Satyr and the Stag, he walked until finally they were before the tall doors that led to the court. The court of the High King. The court of judgement. The doors swung open, but Edmund hesitated to walk through. _The last_, he thought._ The last time I will walk here before I am condemned._

Death was the penalty, the just due for sorcery, murder and treason. He was a king, yes, a king yet. He would no doubt be spared the rope. A sharp sword to slice the head from his shoulders, that would likely be the way. He supposed one of Oreius's most trusted soldiers would wield it. Not Peter. But Peter was the High King. He would speak the sentence, and he would be required to witness it being carried out.

Edmund felt the blood beat hard in his ears. Everything in him wanted to sink down under the weight of his despair, but instead he strode into the crowded court, shoulders straight, head held high. If this was the last, he would face it head on. Silent or no, Aslan was his good Lord, and he would put himself into the Lion's great paws.

Still guarded on either side, he stopped and bowed to the Raven, the Lynx and the Naiad who had found him guilty. Then he made a low bow to the High King. Peter's eyes were ringed with black, and Edmund couldn't help wondering if he had slept at all the night before. The sound of his cries hadn't reached the castle prison, but Edmund knew that empty, haunted look on his face. It was almost certain Peter had once again been plagued by nightmares. Or perhaps he knew the real nightmare was yet to come.

The Raven made a brief opening statement, reviewing the charges and the verdict from the day before. Then he turned to the High King. "It is only left, Sire, for you to pronounce sentence upon the prisoner."

Peter glanced for a moment at the empty chair where Susan had sat when she had been able to leave Lucy's side long enough to attend court, and Edmund wondered if Lucy had taken a turn for the worse or if Susan had merely been unable to face him this one last time. The High King looked out over the court, grave and regal, and then turned to Edmund.

"As you well know," he said, his voice clear and without emotion, "every traitor's life is forfeit to the crown."

_Every traitor belongs to me. _The frigid, cruel voice wafted through Edmund's memory, Her voice, the voice that had haunted and hunted him in nightmares for half a lifetime, and something tore at him from the inside now to hear almost the same words from his brother's cold lips. _Peter, I beg you, no._

"It is our right as High King to require that forfeit. But yet–" He raised one hand to silence the low murmurs that rose from the court. "But yet, for that you have been our brother and a King–"

_Have been? Oh, Peter, no._

"–we leave you your life. This, rather, is our sentence. That you, Edmund, sometime King under us in Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, shall bear those honors no more but be merely Edmund Pevensie, Betrayer of Narnia and Traitor to her High King and to her Queens and to her beloved people, and most abominable of all, to the Great Aslan Himself, and that you shall be forever banished from the Kingdom of Narnia, both you and your heirs for so long as ourself and our noble Queens shall reign."

Not death but banishment. Was that kindness or cruelty?

There were tears standing in Peter's eyes now, tears that gave the lie to the pale stillness of his face and the clear emptiness of his voice, and he nodded to his general. Edmund trembled.

_Peter, no._

Oreius came forward, still looking past Edmund rather than at him, and held out one massive hand. Forcing himself to keep his head high and his shoulders unbowed, Edmund drew his sword, the exquisite dwarf-forged blade Peter had blessed him with on his sixteenth birthday, the sword that had saved both their lives more times than either of them could possibly recall, and offered it hilt first to the centaur. Oreius held the weapon high above his head for all the world to see, and Peter gave him another curt nod.

The centaur took the sword in both hands, holding it now flat across his palms at chest height, just at the level of Edmund's burning eyes, letting him drink in its gleaming, balanced beauty one last time. Then, as if it were no more than a slender tree limb, Oreius snapped the blade in half and tossed the pieces with a dull clang at Edmund's feet. Edmund swallowed down a sob and then turned desperate eyes back to his brother.

Peter's chin quivered , but his voice when he spoke again was as cold and pure as ice.

"Now be gone from this place, Edmund Pevensie, and from this kingdom. We shall not ourself see you again."

Just as a single tear slipped down his cheek, the High King turned his back.

_Peter._

But aloud Edmund could not speak a word.

OOOOO

_We shall not ourself see you again._

The sentence echoed with every plodding step of Edmund's horse. Never again. Never again would he ride the length of fair Narnia hailed as her Just King. Never again would he stand in honor's field, her champion and Aslan's. Never again would he come home to the welcome of his Gentle and Valiant Queens or stand fast in their defense at the side of his Magnificent King.

But it was more, so much more than that he was leaving behind him. It was Lucy's joy and Susan's tenderness and Peter's companionship. It was belonging to and with them, needing and being needed, loving and being loved. It was having a purpose and a home and an identity. And now, with only a few words, all that was gone. He was no one and nothing. He was alone.

His sentence was banishment and not death? How was this not death?

That sentence had been carried out swiftly. The moment Peter had turned his back, the Stag and the Satyr had escorted Edmund out of his presence and into the courtyard. There a dozen armed soldiers awaited him with a horse saddled to carry him away somewhere. He wasn't to have a moment of farewell, a moment to consider, a moment to breathe. He was given his heaviest cloak against the cold, but allowed to take with him nothing else of his own. It didn't matter. All he wanted from here was everything that was nowhere else: his home, his family, his life.

His escort offered him no explanations. He asked none. They rode from Cair Paravel down along icy Glasswater Creek, silent but for the clop of hooves, the jingle of bridles, the padding of paws, silent until, just at dusk, they reached the pass into Archenland.

The Centaur who led the troop ordered a halt. "Edmund Pevensie, you will dismount."

Edmund did as he was told, climbing down to stand ankle-deep in snow, and one of the Fauns took his horse's reins.

"Edmund Pevensie, I am commanded to give you this reminder." The Centaur's voice boomed in the silence of the pass. "You have been granted mercy rather than justice, though your crimes have warranted death. That death will be waiting to greet you the moment you are bold enough to again set foot across our border. This by order of Peter, High King of Narnia."

_We shall not ourself see you again._

Edmund made only a curt bow in response and accepted in silence the dagger offered to him. At least he would have some small means of protecting himself.

The Centaur said not another word. He merely stood with his troops, silent guard over the narrow pass leading back home until, with one longing look north, Edmund turned and started on his way. At the first switchback, he stopped and stood looking back again, remembering his first sight of Narnia all those years ago, a snow-covered reflection of his last glimpse now, and he had been called traitor then, too. The Centaur stood with brawny arms crossed, blocking the road back into Paradise like an angel with a flaming sword. Finally, Edmund turned and walked down the path towards Anvard. There was nowhere else to go, and there was no going back.

With the night, the cold grew more fierce, and Edmund took shelter in a cave. It was little more than a nook in the mountainside, but he managed to build a bit of a fire and huddled in his cloak beside it, too weary and too numb to cry. Eventually, exhaustion took him. He woke once, vaguely aware of something warm and heavy against him and around him, something with an indefinably delightful fragrance, but he was too tired to try to figure out what it was. He only nestled into it and slept again, praying that, at least for tonight, Peter, too, would find peaceful sleep.

OOOOO

The place was lit only with the bluish glow that seemed to radiate from the walls themselves. Walls of ice. Walls of painful, numbing cold. There was no wind. There could be none, for ice enclosed him on all sides as well as above and below, but the cold still seemed to blow through him, shriveling the warmth inside him to near nonexistence.

Peter wasn't sure where he was going, but he kept moving forward. He could hear the voice, and he knew he must go where it was.

It was a soft voice. A sweet voice. A voice that cooed and coaxed and soothed. A voice he knew at once, though he'd heard it only twice before, years and years ago. A voice that stabbed another jolt of icy pain through his belly.

"You, Edmund," it said, and he began to tremble.

He knew the sickening cold sweetness of that voice, and he forced his sluggish legs to move faster down the endless corridor.

"Sometime King under us in Narnia," the voice continued, tender, caressing, somehow pleased. "Duke of Lantern Waste, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table . . ."

The words came slowly, syllable by syllable, as if–

Again he forced himself to walk faster. He had to get there. It was urgent.

". . . shall bear those honors no more but be merely . . ."

He was running now, turning corner after corner, at last running through the door into the cell.

_Edmund!_

". . . Edmund Pevensie, Betrayer of Narnia . . ."

He froze there just inside the doorway, past the bars but somehow unable to go any farther. Edmund. Edmund was there, chained to that wall of blue ice, hanging by torn wrists, ankles shackled, feet dangling helplessly off the floor, face twisted in a grimace of agony. And She loomed over him, as icy blue-white as her dungeon.

". . . and Traitor to her High King and to her Queens and to her beloved people . . ."

She was writing.

" . . . and most abominable of all, to the Great Aslan Himself . . . "

She had a quill of some kind, a black feather, a vulture's perhaps, made razor sharp, and she was writing. With exquisite care, especially when she wrote the name of the Lion, she was writing the words Peter had spoken that day. She was cutting them into Edmund's flesh.

_Edmund!_

Peter couldn't make a sound. He hadn't been able to all this time, though he could feel his throat contract, feel the word try to claw its way free. He could only stand there. Frozen voice. Frozen legs. Frozen heart.

The Witch glanced back at him with a smug little grin and then turned back to her work. She had to tear Edmund's shirt open a little more to have room to etch the rest into his lean, pale abdomen. But he was silent as Peter was silent. In this place, only the Witch had a voice.

" . . . and that you shall be forever banished from the Kingdom of Narnia . . ."

_No._

She laughed softly and, with her eyes fixed on Peter's, she stroked Edmund's hair, possessive and mocking, before completing the sentence.

" . . . both you and your heirs for so long as ourself and our noble Queens shall reign."

Peter tried to move, to speak, but he was helpless. All he could feel was the tears on his cheeks. Why were they colder than even this ice that surrounded him?

_No!_

She turned now, her thin, too-red lips smiling still, and made an airy gesture towards Edmund's ravaged chest with one elegant hand.

"Like it?"

Peter fought to scream, to breathe. _No! No! _

She nodded. "I thought you might.

She beckoned, and Peter was suddenly standing only inches from his brother. He could feel Edmund's ragged gasps.

"They're your very own words, you know." The Witch took Peter's unresisting hand and stroked it lightly across the crimson letters engraved over Edmund's heart. _Betrayer. Traitor. Forever banished._ "Aren't they pretty?"

Peter was suddenly able to struggle against her and pulled his hand away. It was warm now. Warm with his brother's blood.

_No! No! No!_

"No?" she asked, though he had not been able to voice the word. "But you chose them, didn't you . . . Little King?"

_NO!_

His own screams woke him.

He lay in sweat-sodden sheets, his throat raw, his chest aching from convulsed, shaking breaths. And then, as it always had before, the door to his chamber creaked open just enough to admit a tall, slender figure with dark hair.

Peter sat up, eyes eager, sobbing with relief. He didn't know how it could be. He didn't care. "Ed?"

"It is I, Majesty."

"Oh." Peter sank back down on his pillows. "Gil."

"You were . . . having trouble sleeping."

Peter could see only the faint outline of his friend in the black night, but he could read his expression in his voice: concern, pity, desire to help.

"A little," Peter admitted, forcing his voice down into its usual register.

"Shall I sit with you?"

Peter was glad of the darkness that covered the raw emotion on his face. He wouldn't have had to hide it from Edmund. With Edmund he need not always be the High King. But Edmund–

"N-no." Peter took a calming breath. "No, I thank you. Forgive me that I have disturbed your rest."

"It is no trouble. Perhaps some wine might be of help, My King?"

Wine. Wine to dull the pain in his head and take the edge off his nightmare. Edmund– Edmund was a traitor. He wasn't coming back. As always, Gil was right. Some wine would help.

Peter nodded his acceptance, and the Knight smiled.

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have once again been instrumental in making this story possible. I'm blessed to have their help.**

–**WD**


	9. Guile

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

GUILE

"May I speak to you, My Queen?"

Susan looked up from the mound of paperwork on Lucy's desk and smiled faintly when she saw Sir Gilfrey standing in the open doorway.

"Of course, Gil. How are you this morning?"

The Knight bowed. "Well, I thank you, Lady. And you? And my lady your sister?"

"I am well enough, thank you, and there is very good news about Lucy. She woke for a time last night."

"Did she indeed?" Sir Gilfrey came to her and took her hand, touching it with a gentle kiss. "That is wondrous news, Lady, for you and all Narnia. When was this?"

"About dusk." Susan looked over at the pile of blankets on the bed, her smile brighter now to know Lucy was wrapped in natural sleep under them. "She asked for some water and ate some soup and then went to sleep again. Cerise says she will definitely recover now. She was awake for a while this morning, too."

Susan pressed her lips together and tried not to think too hard about that earlier time. Lucy had asked for Peter and Edmund both, and Susan had put her off with vague assurances that they would discuss everything when she was feeling better.

"Where's Peter this morning, Gil? Do you know? I looked for him early last night to tell him about Lucy, but I couldn't find him."

Sir Gilfrey looked at her sadly. "After the . . . audience was over yesterday, My Queen, the High King went riding until well after dark. I believe he went to bed straight after that. He had rather a difficult night."

Susan nodded, feeling a little sick. "I heard."

"I believe he is sleeping yet, but that is why I have come to you, Lady. I thought perhaps you might go speak to him. He has many pressing duties, and I fear he's not been attending to them as he ought. I'd not dare speak of such things to you, My Queen, but I fear for he health of the kingdom and of the King. I have tried as I might to ease his burden of work, but after all, he is King and not I. So many things require his approval and his seal."

Again Susan pressed her lips together and jabbed at her own stack of paperwork with her quill. "He doesn't think I have enough to do? With Lucy sick and Edmund– Edmund gone."

"Lady, Lady, I did not mean to grieve you. I merely thought you might encourage him to put this recent sorrow behind him and think of his land and his people. What's done is done, and now there is the future to be considered."

"You're right of course." Susan sighed. "I'll go talk to him in a while. I have these dispatches to finish, and then there are some Crows who insist on having me hear them about some silly dispute. After that I–"

"Perhaps I might see to the Crows for you, Your Majesty?" The Knight offered his hand and brought her to her feet. "If you would speak to the High King."

She smiled and nodded. Gil was always so reasonable. So thoughtful.

OOOOO

"Lucy's asking for you." Susan yanked open the curtains, and the early sunlight stabbed into Peter's eyes. "You look awful."

He groaned and flung one arm over his face. He felt awful. No, he felt absolutely wretched, and that on only one cup of wine. He shouldn't feel this terrible and still be able to remember last night.

"Later."

"You should have come to see her last night," Susan said, her voice hammering inside his skull. "She's been asking for you this morning."

He put his other arm over his face, too. Couldn't she let him alone a while longer? The news about Lucy finally waking up had been all over Cair Paravel by the time he came in late last night. She had wakened just at dusk. Edmund would have been put out of Narnia just at dusk. Was there room anymore for doubt? For his family, he had to do it.

_. . . you shall be forever banished from the Kingdom of Narnia . . ._

He had to do it. But he hadn't gone to Lucy last night.

_They're your very own words, you know. Aren't they pretty?_

He couldn't bear to see her. Not yet. Not when he could still see those letters cut deep and raw. Not when he knew she would ask about–

"Later," he moaned again, and Susan pushed his arms down to his sides.

"Now."

He turned over, burrowing down into the blankets, and she yanked them off of him.

"Now, Peter. Somebody has to tell her, and it's not going to be me." She stood over him, blue eyes snapping, lips tight. "You're the High King. It's about time you acted like it."

She left at that, slamming the door after her, making him flinch.

Right now he could hardly imagine even standing up straight, much less acting like a High King. But she was right. He had to do it. It was his duty, not just as King but as brother. As comforter and protector and head of the family. Lucy had to know about the banishment, and he had to be the one to tell her. He'd promised Mum, so very, very long ago, that he would look after the others. A fine job he'd made of that. But this he would do.

He'd break Lucy's tender heart himself.

OOOOO

Edmund's sleep had been deep and dreamless, the best he'd had since before he'd left to fight in Lantern Waste early in the summer. Even now, he was only vaguely aware of the playful chirping of a pair of Robins somewhere in the distance and a gentle rumble next to his ear. It occurred to him that he should try to figure out what that rumble was, but he was so deliciously warm and relaxed, he only sighed and turned over. The something he remembered from before, the warm, heavy, comfortable something, was still there, and he wriggled closer, burying his face in it.

The rumble turned into what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and Edmund lifted his head. A pair of serene golden eyes looked back at him.

"Aslan." Edmund blinked and then laughed softly, putting one hand to the whiskered face. "You've been with me all night?"

"Dear One, I am with you always."

"But, Aslan–"

"You must not tarry, Beloved. You must go to Anvard and speak to King Lune."

"King Lune?"

"You must not tarry."

"Aslan, I can't–"

A Blackbird cawed, and Edmund jerked awake. He was lying on nothing but the cold, bare ground, wrapped only in his cloak. His fire had gone out.

_You must go to Anvard. _Had it been direction or only a wishful dream?

He managed to drag himself to his feet. Anvard? News of his disgrace and banishment would have been sent throughout Narnia and to her neighboring rulers, and yet he was meant to walk into Anvard and demand an audience with the King of Archenland? And what sort of welcome would he find there?

_You must not tarry_.

Something trembled inside him. What was happening at home now? Now that he was no longer there, whoever had devised his ruin would be free to set his sights on Peter and the girls. Someone or something had already come against Lucy. He didn't know what was happening with Susan. And Peter–

He mustn't tarry. He had to go home. Somehow, though it was death to return, he had to get back into Narnia. And yet–

_You must go to Anvard. _

Was the dream Aslan's direction or merely his own imagining?

Yet he knew that Voice. Despite all the insanity that had raged around him these past weeks, that Voice was calm and pure and true. The last thing he wanted was to head away from home rather than towards it, but still–

Settling his cloak around his shoulders, he strode out into the early winter light and headed down the snowy path towards Anvard.

OOOOO

Peter peered into Lucy's room. Susan was sitting at the desk writing, and she glanced up at him, her mouth taut.

"Peter. I wasn't sure if you'd bother to come today."

He came up to her, not really wanting to face her waspishness again. "How's Lucy?"

"Waiting to see you."

Susan kept at her work, her voice crisp and businesslike, her quill scratching at the parchment.

Cringing a little at the sound, Peter looked over at the bed and saw only a mound of blankets. "I thought you didn't need to keep it so hot in here anymore. Isn't she warm enough now?"

Susan frowned, still scratching away. "Her temperature is almost normal now, and I think the room is comfortable."

It felt rather warm to Peter, but he didn't say anything else about it. It wasn't important anyway. Right now he had to figure out what to say to Lucy. What could he say?

_Betrayer. Traitor. Forever banished._

How could he tell Lucy when she would never believe it? Not of Edmund. Edmund always said she was a badger about anyone she loved. She hung on. How could he tell her–

_They're your very own words, you know. Aren't they pretty?_

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to wipe away the horrible image of Edmund–

"Will you stop that infernal scratching!"

He glared at Susan and, with an impatient huff, she tossed down her quill and stormed out of the room.

He let out a shuddering breath and then went to Lucy's bedside. She was curled up under the blankets, and he had to turn the topmost one back just to be able to see her colorless face.

"Hullo, Lu. Feeling better?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling as best he could, but she only looked at him, lips pinched and chapped, purple shadows under her eyes.

"Where's Edmund? Why can't I see him? Why won't Susan tell me where he is?"

Sick or well, there was nothing more formidable than Lucy when she was determined to have the truth. Peter looked away from her, too weary and heartsore for another battle, especially one he could never win.

"Lu, I can't– You don't–"

He found both of her hands, still cold, still so pale and fragile, and held them tightly. He couldn't bear to let her slip away, too.

"Lucy."

His eyes met hers again. She sat up, waiting for him to go on.

"You don't understand, Lu. So much has happened while you've been ill."

"I've heard things. Cerise told me a lot of things. Terrible things. But Susan came in before she could finish. Edmund–"

"The spell on you was only part of it. There was the incident with the ships, the Calormenes, the murder of the Dwarf and the Falcon, one thing heaped on another. I–"

"Peter."

The word was little more than a gasp. Her face was paler than before, but her eyes–

"Please, Lu, there was nothing else I could do." His voice sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. "The evidence was there, plain as day. He couldn't say anything to refute it except that he hadn't done anything wrong and that I should trust him. What else could I do?"

"You could have tried trusting him!"

"I wanted to, Lu. So much, I wanted to. I tried. I tried!"

"Not hard enough!"

"Lucy–"

"Peter!" The bewildered pain on her face, in her voice, was unbearable. "It's Edmund. Our Edmund. _Your_ Edmund!"

He flinched at that and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't let her see him cry. Not now.

"Lucy–"

"What have you done?"

_What have you done?_

"It was against Narnia, Lu. Against all of us and Narnia. More than that, it was against Aslan. When Edmund was with the Witch, he must have– Lucy, you and Susan and I have a sacred trust, from Aslan Himself, and so did he. He broke that trust. He–"

"No!"

"Lucy–"

"No!" She jerked her hands away from him. "What have you done?"

Steeling himself as he had yesterday in court, Peter stood. He was the High King. There were things he was required to do. Even if it wrung the heart's blood out of him, he had to do them. He made his face stern, his eyes hard.

"He's banished, Queen Lucy. It is done. He will never come back. Not while you or I or the Queen Susan live and reign."

Still she looked at him, tears welling into her blue eyes, eyes he hadn't been able to resist since her babyhood. Then she began to sob, almost silent sobs that shook her slender body, broken sobs that tore his battered heart and drove him to his knees there at her bedside.

"Please, Lu," he whispered, eyes again closed. "Please."

There was a brief rustle of sheets and after that only taut silence. He looked up to see she had turned her back to him and buried herself under the bedclothes once more. _Oh, Lucy_.

No, he couldn't let her see him cry. He wouldn't.

He shoved himself to his feet and strode out to her balcony, needing to feel the sea air against his flushed face, praying it would ease the merciless hammering in his head. The glistening Eastern Sea. Lucy's Sea. And he knew she'd give every drop of it and all the treasure under it to have Edmund back. To make the world right again.

Today the water was choppy and restless, gray rather than silver, and the mermaids were nowhere to be seen. They were under the waves somewhere, he supposed, down where it was quiet and there was no such word as _banished_.

He realized he was crying after all. It wasn't the hard, convulsive weeping that had broken his sleep last night and too many nights before that. This was only wretched weariness, tears that coursed down his cheeks unbidden because he was too tired to hold them back. He might not have even known he was crying, except that the wintry wind from off the sea made the tears sting against his hot skin.

Wretched weariness. He was tired, so tired.

He leaned back against the cold stone of the castle wall, still staring out to sea, seeing nothing but the shattered look in his youngest sister's eyes when he told her what he'd done. _He's banished, Queen Lucy. Banished. Banished._

He scrubbed his hand over his face, scrubbed away the tears that wouldn't slow, and then, suddenly unable to stand any longer, he slid down to sit on the marble floor, his legs stretched out before him and his back against the wall. He could still see the sea through the stone railings, still hear its ceaseless pounding against the rocks and on the sand, echoing the endless throbbing in his head. _Banished_, it mocked. _Banished. Banished. Banished_.

_What have you done?_

The wind picked up, whipping off the water, blowing cold against the walls of Cair Paravel, freezing his wet cheeks and piercing his clothing with its icy fingers. Susan would no doubt scold if she found him here without at least a cloak and order him inside before he caught his death. Death, it seemed, was not so very hard to catch. Perhaps one need only sit still and wait for it to come.

He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. He could wait.

How long he sat there, he didn't know, but he was finally aware of something being draped around his shoulders, something soft and warm and comfortingly heavy. He looked up to see his sister standing over him, waiflike in her rumpled white nightgown.

"Lu?"

She had already put one of her blankets around him, and now she was spreading another over his legs and chest, pulling it up to his chin.

He swiped his hand over his face again, knowing it was too late now to hide his tears from her.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Lucy? You've been sick. Susan won't be very happy with either of us if you catch a chill."

She didn't say a word. Instead, she lifted one side of the blanket and crawled under it and into his lap, her soft weeping starting his own again.

"Lu," he murmured, cuddling her close, holding her as tightly as he dared, fearing he would crush her if he held her as tightly as he wanted to, as tightly as he needed to.

She hid her face against his neck and slipped her arms around him.

And because she was Lucy, she hung on.

OOOOO

Edmund had been many times to Anvard, as Lune's fellow King, honored guest and friend. Now, as the sun began to sink behind the western mountains, he came to the gates unsure of the reception he would find. He was again counted among the traitors. And good King Lune, jolly King Lune, plainspoken and honest King Lune, how would he welcome one sullied with such crimes as murder and betrayal and black sorcery?

The guards, well knowing who he was, looked uneasy when Edmund approached and bid them present his request for an audience with their King.

"What name shall we say, Your Maj– My Lor–"

Edmund felt the color rise in his face. "Say that Edmund Pevensie begs just a moment's talk with him."

The guards exchanged a bewildered glance, but one of them, with an uncertain bow, darted into the castle.

More quickly than Edmund imagined possible, he heard heavy footsteps and a familiar, booming voice.

"Where is he?"

He knew that voice, a voice as dear almost as his nearly forgotten father's. Afraid to see anger in that always-kind face or reproof or, more than anything, the revulsion that must flood the eyes of any honest man when faced with a traitor and a villain, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

"It is not meet that the King of Archenland should come out to look on a beggar. I have no right, nor nothing like to right, to ask that you hear me speak or even allow me to approach your gates, most noble King Lune."

His words sounded thin and unsteady to his own ears. How must they sound to the ears of a King?

He felt he ought to say more, ought to explain, ought to somehow atone for even being accused of such heinous deeds, but the words were tangled in a painful knot under his breastbone and wouldn't be dislodged. He only knelt there, trembling, waiting.

"Here now. Here."

Edmund felt himself pulled up against a broad chest and held tightly enough to feel the rumble of the words.

"You are right welcome to Anvard, King Edmund, as ever you have been."

Edmund looked up and let out a shaky breath. There was only welcome and kind acceptance on the face of Archenland's King.

"King no longer, I fear," he admitted, tears threatening and more than a touch of wryness in his tremulous smile.

"Nonsense," Lune boomed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Has not Aslan Himself called you King?"

Edmund looked at his boots. "That was many years ago."

Lune turned Edmund's face back up to him, and there was a familiar merry twinkle in his eyes. "He called you so only last night."

"Last night?"

Lune put one arm around Edmund's shoulders and turned him towards the castle. "Come in, Your Majesty. Rest and refresh yourself. I have much to tell you."

Lune refused to divulge anything more until Edmund accepted his hospitality.

"Aslan gave me express orders," the jolly King said, "and He told me not to heed any argument."

Edmund could by no means convince Lune to say more just then, and he had to admit he was glad of the comforts. He'd eaten nothing all day but the nuts and berries he was able to scrounge along the road, and the hearty meal of roast pork and apple-and-bramble pie was as welcome as the hot bath and fresh clothes. Still, Aslan's warning not to tarry stayed foremost in his mind, and he was relieved when Lune finally dismissed everyone from the table so they might speak in private.

"I didn't believe a word of it," Lune said, eyes indignant. "Even before Aslan spoke to me, I knew none of what was said of you could be true."

"I thank you for that."

Edmund felt his throat tighten around the words. Why hadn't his own brother been as certain?

"But I must admit," Lune continued, "what Aslan has instructed me to tell you seems rather wide of the point."

A little grin tugged at the corners of Edmund's mouth. How like Him. "What did He say?"

"I'm to tell you of a rare vine that grows in Calormen."

"A vine?"

"It is called Xerasthenia, Desert Weakness, though some call it Purple Binding. It springs up from a certain type of rock deep in the desert. For only a few days each spring, its leaves turn purple, nearly black, and it is then that they have a peculiar quality. If they are harvested at the right moment, the leaves can be crushed and made into an elixir."

Edmund wrinkled his forehead. "What does this elixir do?"

"My understanding is that it weakens the will of anyone who consumes it. It makes him confused and easily led. It also weakens his body and gives him headaches and fever and particularly vivid nightmares."

Confusion? Headaches? Nightmares? Oh, Peter!

"I have to go back." Edmund leapt to his feet. "I have to get back home."

"King Edmund." Lune clasped his shoulder and pushed him back down. "You must listen to all I have to tell you."

Edmund grasped the carved arms of his chair, his breath coming hard. _You must not tarry. You must not tarry._

"What else?"

Lune kept his hand on Edmund's shoulder, concern in his eyes. "You know someone who shows these signs?"

"What else?" Edmund repeated, jaw clenched.

"If long continued," Lune said, "this elixir eventually brings death."

**Author's Note: Thanks to OldFashionedGirl95, especially for letting me borrow her Crows, and to Laura Andrews. You're both most wonderful!**

–**WD**


	10. Deceit

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

DECEIT

_If long continued, this elixir eventually brings death._

"You have to let me go." Edmund looked into the eyes of the King of Archenland, trembling at the direful words Lune had just spoken, his expression fierce and yet pleading, too. "Peter–"

"Someone has dared attack the High King with this Xerasthenia?"

Edmund nodded. "He shows every sign. I have to get back to Cair Paravel."

"You well know you cannot do that, King Edmund. Until everything is put right, Narnia is death for you."

"And death for Peter if I do nothing!"

Lune gave him a stern look, his hand still heavy on Edmund's shoulder. "And will you go back just to watch him die? Or will you hear all of Aslan's counsel and save his life?"

Edmund clutched his arm. "Forgive me. Please, go on."

"I know you wish to help your brother." Lune's expression softened. "I do as well. But your way leads not to Cair Paravel but into the far west."

"West?"

Edmund's heart sank. Was he to travel farther from home? Farther from his family? Farther from the opportunity to drive his sword through the heart of the villain who was bent on murdering Peter?

"You must go alongside the Archen Mountains until you reach the Western March," Lune said. "Once you cross into your own kingdom, you must be swift and wary. Aslan promised to send the Centaur Stormseer to meet you and guide you to where the antidote to this elixir may be found. He is wise in such matters and will tell you what you must do."

"Stormseer? No. There must be some other–"

Lune shook his head. "Those were Aslan's words. Stormseer has long been known here and in Narnia as a true prophet of the Lion. He blessed my own sons at their birth. Why should Aslan not send him?"

"The last message he sent to Cair Paravel, the one the Falcon was carrying when he was killed, it was a– it wasn't true. It wasn't true, but Peter and Susan believed it."

Edmund felt his blood turn hot at the remembered words. _. . . he was an Adder still._ And was he to go to this same Centaur now for help?

"It is what Aslan told me," Lune said, his usually jolly face grave. "I know nothing of what message you had before or what it may have meant. I can only deliver the message with which I was charged. How you act upon that knowledge, I leave to your own wisdom. I know He said in plain terms you're not to tarry. Now I see why. You hold your brother's life in your hands."

Edmund let the taut air out of his lungs. Now was no time to let his own grievances hinder him. "You're right. I will go."

"Meanwhile, I will send my doughtiest Knight to warn the High King. I would trust him with my life and that of my son."

"No." Edmund clutched Lune's arm again. "No. For now, whoever is behind this is content to use the High King for his own purposes. If he knows someone has discovered his plot, he may kill Peter at once."

"But–"

"No. I've had too much of treachery to leave this to the uncertainty of a messenger. I will have to make a swift journey and get back to the Cair before this villain knows he's been found out."

"I shall see to it that everything you need is ready for you in the morning."

Edmund stood up. "Tonight."

"Tomorrow, if it please you." Lune stood, too. "It will help neither you nor the High King if your quest fails because you were too wearied to complete it. For your brother's sake, stay here the night and start fresh at dawn."

Edmund's scowl warmed into a reluctant smile. "For Peter then. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Lune clapped him on the shoulder and called for a servant. Edmund soon found himself in a comfortable room with a cheerful fire and a deep and downy bed. He undressed quickly and tried to sleep, knowing Lune was right about his needing strength for the journey to come, but sleep would not come to him. He could only think of Peter, confused and hurting, terrified that he was going mad, tortured by nightmares. They both suffered from them anyway, but this poison would intensify their horror. And Peter would have to face that horror alone.

"Oh, Aslan," Edmund breathed as he struggled to fall asleep, "watch over him until I can get back home."

OOOOO

Susan sighed and laid her fork beside her barely touched plate. Sir Gilfrey immediately laid aside his own.

"My Queen does not find the meal to her liking this evening?"

She smiled slightly. "No, it's all very nice, I'm sure. It's just– It's been a long day."

"Forgive me, Lady. Shall I leave you?"

The Knight began to push back his chair, but she laid her hand on his arm to stop him.

"No, Gil. Do stay. I really don't want to eat alone."

He gave her a look of teasing reproof. "But Your Majesty does not seem to be eating anyway."

"I still would rather not be alone." Tears pooled in her eyes at the admission, and she dabbed them away with her napkin. Edmund was gone, Lucy was sleeping, and she didn't know where Peter was. Anyway, she was too frustrated with him to even consider seeking him out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"No need to apologize, My Queen. You've had more to bear of late than should be asked of anyone, let alone your fair self." Gil covered the hand on his arm with his own, his dark eyes flooded with concern. "Might I be of any aid to you?"

"You've done so much for us already. Thank you for looking after Peter again. How– how was he today?"

She had been furious to find Peter sitting out in the cold with Lucy this morning. He knew Lucy wasn't completely well yet. What had he been thinking?

Susan had bundled her protesting sister back into bed and shooed her dazed-looking brother off to his study. What was done was done, and there was nothing for them to do now but carry on with ruling the kingdom that had been entrusted to them. She and Peter would have much more to be responsible for now that Edmund was gone, and she couldn't do it all alone.

"You may as well _try_ to get something done today," she had told him, managing to keep her tone crisp and, if not exactly gentle, at least even. "I'm sure Gil will help you."

And the Knight had appeared as if on cue, bringing Peter some papers to look over, only too happy to assure her that he would see that Peter stayed focused on the work that awaited him. The last she had seen of her brother was him sitting at his desk, his head leaning on one hand and his brow creased with effort as he looked over some document Gil was urging him to sign. At least he was working.

"The High King accomplished a great deal today, I'm pleased to report," the Knight told her now. "May I ask you, Lady, has he said anything to you about the castle being overly warm? He said as much to me earlier, but I have not found it so."

"He told me the same thing this morning." Susan sighed. "Maybe I'd better go check on him."

"Perhaps in the morning, My Queen. I believe he has already retired for the evening, and it would not do him good to be disturbed. I can well imagine the events of the past few days have been wearying for you both."

She felt a pang of guilt at that. She knew Peter was grieving, but she was grieving, too. That didn't mean either of them could abandon his responsibilities. He and Edmund had been especially close, she knew that, but she had loved their younger brother, too. Loved him and fussed over him and spoilt him and been deceived by him. So deceived.

Before she could check it, sudden grief poured from her, wracking her with sobs and flooding her eyes with tears. She pressed her crumpled napkin to her mouth, trying to control herself as she had these past few days, but it was no use. Her dear, sweet, snide, fierce, beautiful little brother who would have done anything to keep her and Narnia safe was as gone as if he had never been. Perhaps he never had.

She gripped Sir Gilfrey's arm more tightly, resting her forehead against his shoulder, soaking his doublet with tears. He merely held her close, murmuring wordless comfort, and she leaned into him, glad for the moment to let someone else be strong.

OOOOO

The battle raged around him, blade on blade, blood on blood, death on death. Peter knew this battle. It was different from any that had come after it. It was his first.

He was terrified.

Rhindon felt heavy and awkward in his hand, he was clumsy with his shield, and he realized it was by some miracle and not his own skill that he yet survived. The blows he dealt seemed comically weak, and his hands seemed so small in spite of the gauntlets. Yet he fought on, knowing that he must, knowing he was meant to fight and live and become High King.

He was thirteen again, and this was Beruna.

_Beruna. Beruna was a victory. Keep fighting. Just keep fighting. Victory is coming._

His Unicorn lay where he had fallen, an arrow in his side. Oreius, the Centaur general who had pledged his allegiance unto the death, stood with massive sword raised, forever frozen in stone. Peter just had to hold on. He had to just keep fighting until the victory came. It wouldn't be long now. The end was near.

He cut down a Minotaur and then hacked through a pair of Ogres. Just as he raised his blade to swipe the head off a Harpy, he felt an agonizing pain in the small of his back. He arched and dropped to his knees, staggered, numbed. Rhindon clanged to the ground and he pitched face first onto the trampled grass.

He managed somehow to turn his head enough to see the long blade that had been driven into his spine. It stood straight up, gleaming in the merciless sun until that sun was blotted out by someone looming over him.

Jadis.

He lay helpless before her, shaking with pain and fear, knowing his legs were useless now, limp and unfeeling. She ripped the sword from his back, ripping a cry from him as she did, and then she seized him by one arm and flung him against one of the huge boulders that littered the battlefield. He slid into a sitting position, his back against the rock, able to do nothing but look up at her.

She fixed her soulless black eyes on him from what seemed a terrible height. There was the slightest smile on her crimson lips and she drew a little breath as if she were about to speak.

"Peter! Peter!"

_No! No, please!_

He turned his head to see Susan and Lucy rushing towards him. They were very young girls again, Susan just beginning to bloom into beauty, Lucy still round-faced, hardly more than a baby. Why were such tender little ones even in such a place of death and horror? He fought to stand, to reach his sword, to call out a warning, but he could not.

At the sight of the Witch, Susan reached back for one of the red-fletched arrows from her quiver. Before she could bring it to her bow, Jadis raised her wand and Susan was only a graceful statue, her lovely mouth fixed in a perpetual "o" of surprise.

Ever-valiant Lucy, her tiny dagger already drawn, lunged at the Witch. Jadis lifted her wand again and then, with a smirk, picked up Rhindon instead and ran it through the small body up to the hilt. Lucy made only a tiny, whimpering cry, a child's cry, and then lay still. Dead.

Peter could do nothing but watch, unable to move, unable to scream, only numb.

The Witch smiled down on him. "What? Were you expecting someone to come for you, Little King? Someone who would sacrifice himself to save you?"

He opened his mouth in a silent cry of agony.

"Where could he be?" she taunted. "Perhaps banished forever from the Kingdom of Narnia? What a pity. What a pity."

Then Peter's heart soared, for he heard the thudding paws and thundering roar of the Great Lion. The Witch turned in horror to face Him as He leapt towards her. But then He stopped, only standing there, majestic and full of terrible splendor.

"Aslan," Jadis said, growing bold when He did not spring at her. "I have won."

And Aslan looked at her with eyes of golden sorrow. "You have won. Narnia is yours forever."

_No, _Peter wanted to scream. _Aslan, no! No! _

But again he could not move. Again he could not speak.

The Lion turned to him with a slow shake of His mane.

"Son of Adam." The words were filled with disappointment, filled with grief. "Son of Adam."

And then He bounded away and there was only Jadis and the greedy triumph in her eyes.

"I suppose, Peter dear, there is yet one thing I must do."

She picked up her wand, towering over him once again, bringing it slowly closer and closer until, with a playful little laugh, she abruptly laid it down, choosing instead to stroke the sweat-matted hair from his forehead.

"No, I think not."

As if he were a week-old kitten, she picked him up by the scruff of the neck and tossed him with a clatter of armor into the bottom of her battle chariot. He groaned as pain jolted through him, radiating from the wound in his back throughout his whole body, sparing only his numb, useless legs. She stepped in next to him and, with a sly smile, traced long, white fingers across his cheek.

"I think I will rather keep you mine forever."

He could only lie trembling at her feet, freezing now in the sudden blast of winter wind and the snow that swirled over the trampled green field. She cracked her whip, and before her chariot reached the road leading westward to her icy castle, Peter could see the empty-eyed forms of his sisters already shrouded in white.

The whip cracked again, and he jolted awake. Freezing. He was freezing. He curled in on himself, huddling there in the middle of the bed in his thin nightshirt, shaking with cold. He had heard not the cracking of a whip but the banging of his balcony doors, flung open by the wind and weather, open to the blowing snow that was whitening his floor and banking against the wall. Teeth chattering, he groped for his blankets, but they were out of reach, heaped at the foot of the bed. Even his hearth fire had burned out.

He lay there for a long moment before he was finally able to sit up. But when he tried to stand, his legs collapsed under him and he slid to the floor. He hadn't the strength now to get up, to move, to even call out. All he could do was lie there shivering on the icy marble and let the howling wind cover him with snow.

OOOOO

Once she had calmed herself again, Susan had murmured another apology, and Sir Gilfrey had once again dismissed it.

"If I can be of some little comfort to you, dear Queen, it is no hardship but a very great honor."

With the utmost care and tenderness, he had blotted the tears from her face with his own handkerchief and then escorted her back to her chamber. Now she sat at her dressing table combing out her long black hair. Normally one of her ladies-in-waiting would have done it for her, but she had dismissed them all. She didn't feel like listening to the chattering Dryads or the fretting Peahens and Poodles.

Sighing, she slipped off her dressing gown, ready to get some sleep. No doubt, as Gil had suggested, things would look better in the morning. But before she got into bed, she sighed once more and put her dressing gown back on. She hadn't checked on Lucy since before supper, and she knew she ought to look in on Peter as well. He was never one to complain much, but he had mentioned the heat to her and to Sir Gilfrey, too. Perhaps he wasn't well. She ought to find out for sure.

She found Lucy sleeping quietly, her temperature normal and her breathing even. There was a little extra pink in her cheeks now, and Susan couldn't help wondering if she had cried herself to sleep again. Poor thing, she didn't understand about Edmund. Susan suspected she never would. It just wasn't in her to believe someone she loved so much could be anything but good and honorable.

Once she had pulled the covers a bit more snugly around her little sister's shoulders, Susan went across the corridor to Peter's quarters. She didn't knock, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping. She merely pushed open the door and was greeted with a blast of cold air and the sight of her brother huddled and motionless on the floor, white with snow.

"Peter!"

She hurried across the room to close and bolt the balcony doors. Then she went to Peter, swiftly brushing the snow from his face and pushing aside his damp hair so she could feel his forehead. He was shaking and burning with fever.

"Oh, Peter."

She knew she couldn't move him herself, so she grabbed the blankets from the bed and tucked them around him and then went to the door.

"Leander! Call for Cerise at once and then get the High King's valet, some of the chambermaids and a couple of soldiers in here right away. It's urgent."

"At once, My Queen." The Cheetah bowed and darted off.

She went back to Peter, hardly able to see him now for the tears that welled into her eyes. Why hadn't she noticed he was ill instead of just being angry with him? She knelt down to kiss his hot cheek.

"What were you trying to do? Cool off or kill yourself?"

She wanted to take him in her arms, to warm and comfort him, but instead she went to the hearth and laid a blazing fire. Soon the room was filled with warmth and light and help. Peter's wet nightshirt, sheets and blankets were replaced with warm, dry ones and two Faun soldiers lifted him back into bed. While the Otter chambermaids mopped up the melting snow and otherwise put the room back in order, Cerise examined her latest patient, her lovely eyes dark with concern.

"I will give him some boiled white willow bark for fever and pain, Your Majesty. Why have I not been called to him before now? He's been ill some while, has he not?"

"I don't know. He's had headaches since he returned from Ettinsmoor this summer, but he always says they are nothing to worry over. I thought–"

"When did he last eat?"

"I– I don't know." Susan stroked his pale cheek. Why hadn't she really noticed before how sunken it was? How worn he looked? "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know yet, My Queen. His only symptom seems to be the fever, but the cold cannot have done him any good. Do you suppose he put out the fire and opened those doors himself?"

"He'd been complaining of the heat," Susan said. "I just– I don't know."

The Cherry Dryad stroked the back of Peter's hand and then drew back when she realized Susan was watching her.

"Someone must stay with him, My Queen," she said, a delicate flush suddenly in her face, "if he is a danger to himself. I would be happy to–"

"I'll stay with him. You'd better go prepare the medicine he needs."

With a low curtsy, Cerise left the room, and all the others followed after her. When Susan turned back to her brother, his eyes were open, wide with uncertain fear.

"Su?" He grabbed her hand, struggling to sit up. "Su, you're all right? You're not– Where's Lucy?"

"Shh, shh, shh." She pushed him back against the pillows. "Lucy is sleeping. She's fine. Just rest now."

"She was dead, and you were–" His voice caught, and she sat down next to him and took him into her arms.

"Peter, it's all right."

"I lost," he sobbed. "I lost you and Lucy and– and Narnia. And Aslan, He– Aslan–"

"No, shh, it was only a dream."

"I lost. And I was lost." His chest heaved. "Because– Edmund– didn't come."

"Shh, Peter. It was just–"

"Because– I sent him– away."

He huddled against her, burning her with his hot skin and hot tears, and she held him close, her own tears burning, too.

"_We_ sent him away, Peter. We sent him away because we had to."

He was too exhausted to fight sleep for long, and his violent sobs quickly slowed into whimpers and then deep, shuddering breaths and silence.

She still held him there against her. She still wept.

"We had to."

OOOOO

Edmund exhaled heavily and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Another dream. Another merciless nightmare. He'd seen Peter lying chained and frozen solid in the Witch's dungeon, blue eyes sightless, blue lips still, and Susan sitting on the icy floor holding him, her tears freezing like little diamonds only to shatter as they fell. And Edmund had stood outside the cell beating his fists on the bars, screaming to be let in, but no one heard him.

He wiped the slick sweat from his upper lip and got out of bed. It took him only a moment to dress himself. He had to leave tonight.

Now.

**Author's Note: As ever, OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have been tireless in their efforts to make this dreck readable. Thank you both!**

–**WD**


	11. Beguilement

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

BEGUILEMENT

Edmund looked around the room King Lune had given him. His old clothes and the heavy cloak he had been wearing, the only things he had been allowed to bring with him from Narnia, had been spirited off somewhere while he was bathing earlier. No doubt one of Lune's people had taken everything to be washed and tidied, but that was a problem now.

It was the deep middle of the night, and he was supposed to be sleeping. He had tried to sleep. He needed to be well rested and alert when he set out for the Western March to find the antidote for the poison killing Peter. But how could he stay here wasting time when his brother was slowly dying? How could he sleep when sleep brought only agonizing visions of that death? When Aslan Himself had told him he must not tarry?

He pushed open the casement and the cold air rushed into the cozy room. It would be nothing to slip away now, to climb from the window and down the trellis to the flat part of the roof below and from there to the outer wall. But if he did, he'd have no cloak, no provisions, no weapon but the small dagger he'd been given when he was put out of his kingdom.

There were two apples and an orange in a silver bowl on the table. He could take them along, but he had no pouch to carry them. He could pull some blankets off the bed to use for warmth and bedding on the journey, but they would be a poor substitute for warm clothes and proper traveling gear.

It didn't matter. He had to go.

He shut the window again, turning to gather up what he could, and caught his breath. There before the hearth, a brighter gold than the flames, lay the Great Lion.

Edmund threw himself down before Him. "Aslan."

"Beloved Son."

The Lion nuzzled his hair, and Edmund leaned into Him, clinging to the tawny neck, no longer able to hold back the weary tears that had burned unshed inside him since Peter had pronounced his banishment and forever turned away. Aslan merely lay close to him, the heavy paws surrounding him, sheltering him, the warm nose nudging his face, the low purr soothing and calming him until he could cry no more and lay resting against the Lion's side.

"You were with me in the cave before, weren't you?" Edmund's lips trembled. "It wasn't just a dream."

"It was a dream, Dear One." Aslan gave him a Lion's smile. "And I was there with you, watching over you as you dreamt it."

_Sleeping, and waking, oh defend me still._ Edmund remembered the words, though he couldn't quite place where they were from. A prayer. A king's prayer from that Other Place, from a play older than the Witch's winter. Sleeping and waking, Aslan was with him. In his dreams and out of them. In Narnia, in Archenland, in the wilds of the Western March, He was there. Watching over him. Guiding him. Protecting him. Never failing. And yet–

"Aslan?"

Edmund's voice sounded much as it had at their very first meeting, when he had been only a child, bewildered and broken, not knowing what this great King had planned for him.

"My Son?"

"I– I've failed You."

The Lion merely looked at him with all-knowing eyes and waited.

"I don't– I didn't mean to, but somehow I've made a mess of everything."

"Why do you say that, Child?"

"Because–" Edmund looked away from the unwavering gaze. "Because otherwise I would still– Peter would never have–" He bit his lip. "I wouldn't be here."

For a long time, there was only silence. He could hear the crackle of the fire and the Lion's heavy breaths, but that was all. He couldn't bear to look up again and see disappointment in those golden eyes, though he knew it ought to be there.

"Edmund."

Aslan's voice rumbled through the room, soft but deep and rich, and still Edmund did not look up.

"Edmund Pevensie, look at Me."

Edmund slowly lifted his head and was surprised to find not censure but warmth and tenderness in the Lion's eyes.

"Do not assume that the difficulties you face mean that you have somehow done wrong, Beloved. In this world, in all the worlds, troubles will come. You are My chosen, so those who hate Me will hate you as well. It should not surprise you if you suffer for doing what is right."

Edmund nodded, though that seemed rather a grim prospect.

Aslan nudged his chest. "But I will see. I will remember. And I will reward you."

Edmund pressed close to Him once more, burying his face in His mane, breathing in His soothing scent. But after only a moment, he pulled away again.

"I have to go. I can't just stay here doing nothing."

"In the morning, Edmund."

"But You said I must not–"

"It is as foolish, Dear One, to blunder into something too quickly as come to it too late."

"But Peter–"

"You can best help Peter by preparing yourself wisely for what is to come."

Edmund took hold of His mane again, hands trembling. "Please, Sir, my sister, Lucy. They wouldn't tell me how she was. Is she– Is she–"

"She has recovered, My Son."

Edmund let out a shuddering breath, smiling faintly as at least that fear eased off his shoulders. "King Lune said I was to go into the west. That the Centaur Stormseer would meet me and tell me what to do."

"That is so. Stormseer is my faithful prophet. He speaks the words I give him."

"But Aslan–" Tears sprang into Edmund's eyes. "What he said in his message. He said I was– I was– That I would destroy my family. Please, Aslan, is that what You told him? Am I–" Edmund twisted his fingers deeper into the Lion's mane, once more hiding his face in its warmth. "Am I going to betray them again? Am I truly nothing but a traitor still?"

He would rather never see them all again. He would rather wander the wide world alone than again do them that kind of wrong. But was it true?

_I suppose we can't help being what we are._ Edmund could still hear his brother's words. He could still feel the dagger thrust of them and see Peter's empty-eyed acceptance of them. But Peter had already been poisoned by then, hadn't he? Surely, he didn't truly believe–

"You must speak to Stormseer when you meet him," Aslan said. "Ask him about the message he sent to Cair Paravel."

"But isn't he Your–?"

"Hear my message for you now, Beloved Son, one you must believe over anything else you have heard said of you. One you must treasure in your heart and not forget when you face the trials that are to come. I have taken you from a far place, called you from out of it, and said to you that you are mine. I have chosen you and not rejected you. Do not fear, for I am always with you. Do not be discouraged, for I am your strength and your help and I will Myself hold you up. All who have opposed you will be ashamed and brought down to nothing. The ones who have come against you will soon be no more. Even if you look for them, you will not find them, for I am with you, beside you, helping you." The Lion nuzzled his cheek. "You will remember this, Dear One?"

Edmund clung to Him, the precious words falling like healing balm over his grief-ravaged heart. _This_ was what he was. _Called. Chosen. Not rejected._ Perhaps he couldn't help being what he was after all, and bless Aslan, _this_ was what he was. He was ready to charge into the Western March now. Ready to take on whatever he must face. Aslan was with him.

He lifted his head, sniffling and laughing softly as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "I will remember, Aslan, and I'm ready. Shouldn't I go now?"

"If you go now, you won't have everything you need to complete your journey. You won't have what you need to save your brother before it's too late."

Edmund's face turned grave again, and he bit his lip.

"Everything," Aslan said, "that I have provided for you."

"Thank you."

Edmund didn't know what else to say. He didn't see how wasting the hours until dawn would help anything, but Aslan knew. Of course He knew.

In spite of himself, Edmund sighed.

"I know it isn't easy for you, Beloved, but you are weary." Aslan put one heavy paw on his shoulder, pressing him to lie down. "Sleep now, and morning will come."

Edmund shifted restlessly. "I can't sleep. Aslan, I can't. I'll only dream that he's–"

"Peace, Child." The Lion breathed sweet warmth on him. "I will give you rest."

Edmund laid his head against Him, suddenly drowsy. "But, Aslan–"

"Peace."

The Lion put His paw across him, pulling him closer still, and Edmund nestled against His side and surrendered to sleep.

OOOOO

"You swore he would not be harmed."

Peter did not open his eyes, did not move. There were so many different voices right now, and it was hard to tell which of them were real and which spoke only in his dreams. Or in his nightmares. He simply lay listening, drifting in the stifling darkness, wondering whose this particular voice was. It was female, but apart from that he could make nothing of the urgent, unrecognizable whisper.

"This will not be needed for much longer, I assure you."

That voice was male, Peter was certain, even if it was just a low whisper, too. Edmund? No, not Edmund. He'd sent Edmund away. He didn't really remember why just now, but he had. He knew there had been a traitor, but now he wasn't quite sure who that had been.

Someone, if it wasn't a hallucination, was lifting his head off the pillows. He wondered vaguely if he ought to see who it was, but then the motion stopped, and the female voice spoke once more.

"He's weakening by the day. I won't let you give it to him anymore."

"I told you what would happen."

"I didn't know it would do this to him. You didn't tell me that part."

"What will you do?" The male voice was soft but implacable. "Speak of what you know, and I perforce must speak as well. What do you think the punishment might be for what you have done already?"

"That was never meant to kill. That was only so there would be strong evidence against . . . He never would have believed it otherwise. Not about him. They were always too close. You said so yourself."

"I did indeed. And this is also necessary. No matter the evidence, he would not have believed without its help. And how else would we have rid beloved Narnia of that traitor? Pity even this could not make this one impose the penalty the law allows." The man's laugh was barely audible. "But he will thank you one day, when he knows all you have done for him. For Narnia."

Peter didn't hear a reply to that, but he felt his head lifted a little more and a few drops of something bitter touched his tongue. Then, for the brief seconds before the darkness took him, he thought he would suffocate in the heat.

OOOOO

Edmund woke at first light. Morning at last. As he had the night before, he had slept without dreaming, warm and secure between the Lion's paws. Aslan was gone now, but Edmund remembered His words. _Called. Chosen. Not rejected._ He could go into the west now in that knowledge, in that strength, no matter what else was said of him. No matter what he faced.

He grinned a little as he looked around the room. The orange and the two apples were still in the silver bowl on the table. He still had no traveling clothes or provisions or even anything to carry them in if he had. He had nothing he hadn't had the night before except Aslan's assurances that He would provide what was needed. Somehow it was enough.

"Aslan," he breathed, letting the light from the casement spill over his upturned face, "You know Peter is in danger. Please watch over him until I can get there. Watch over Lucy and Susan and keep them safe." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Sleeping and waking, oh defend me still."

There was nothing to do now but begin. He had fallen asleep with his clothes on, so there was no need to dress. He did, however, make quick work of the orange and one of the apples. Then, because one never knows what lies ahead and because the first had been so delicious, he took a deep bite of the second apple, too, and then flung open the chamber door.

With a yelp, a towheaded little boy tumbled into the room.

"Corin!" Edmund coughed to clear the apple from his windpipe. "Why in the world didn't you knock?"

The boy bounced to his feet, blue eyes bright. "Father said I wasn't to wake you, but that I might tell you, when you did wake, that he's waiting for you down at the stables. And he sent you this cloak to put on."

"Waiting for me?" Edmund took two more bites of apple and tossed the rest back into the bowl with the remains of what he had eaten earlier. Then he threw the cloak around his shoulders. "I wish I'd known. I thought I'd be the first up."

"He said Aslan woke him so he could have everything ready for you to go. And he has a surprise for you. I suppose you ought to hurry."

"I suppose I should. Thank you."

Edmund sprinted down the corridor, but the boy darted after him.

"Wait! Wait! Mayn't I go along with you, King Edmund?"

Edmund slowed a little, managing a distracted smile. "I don't see why not. They're your stables."

"No, I mean into the west. Please, mayn't I?"

"I don't think your father would much care for that idea."

"But I can help you. I'm eleven, or nearly."

"I happen to know you turned ten just three months ago."

"That's nearly eleven. Besides, I could help you. I could gather firewood and cook the supper and keep watch while you slept at night and, if any Fell Beasts try to get you, I could box them and–"

"I know you'd be a great help, but you'd better stay here." Edmund put his arm around the boy's shoulders as they kept walking. "I must be swift and invisible when I go back into Narnia. I'm sure you understand why."

The boy nodded gravely. "I just– I'd like to help you and the High King."

"I know, and I thank you for that. Peter would, too, if he were here. And someday, Corin, when everything is set right again, I promise I'll take you along on a trip somewhere special. Perhaps some exotic place you haven't been before."

Corin's face brightened. "Really?"

"Absolutely. Now come along."

As the boy had said, King Lune was waiting for him in the stables.

"How fares Your Majesty this morning?"

Edmund clasped the hand the older man offered him. "Very well, I thank you, and the better for your kind hospitality."

"You're most welcome, I warrant you." Lune drew his son to his side, smiling fondly on him. "I trust this scapegrace hasn't disturbed your rest."

"Not at all," Edmund said. "But, truly, you should have let him wake me. It is not seemly for Your Majesty to be kept waiting just for me."

"Nonsense. I've had much to keep me occupied since Aslan came to me this morning and even a guest to see to."

Edmund lifted one eyebrow. "Oh, yes?"

"A friend of yours, I believe." Lune chuckled as a chestnut-colored Horse came out of the stable.

"King Edmund?"

Edmund's face lit, and he ran to embrace his friend. "Phillip!"

"I always wanted to meet a talking Horse, and now we've had one for a guest." Corin fairly bounced in his excitement. "Are you surprised? Are you surprised?"

Edmund laughed and tried not to cry as he clung to Phillip's neck. "I am. It's as fine a surprise as I could ask."

Corin grinned. "He's a nice Horse. And he belongs to you?"

"Hardly," Edmund said, his voice not entirely steady "You might rather say I belong to him."

Phillip snorted. "Quite right."

Lune stood with his arms crossed and looked rather pleased. "You see now why Aslan wished you to wait until this morning."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here yesterday?" Edmund asked.

"Aslan warned me about that." Lune pretended to be stern. "It was feat enough to get you to eat and rest as it was."

Edmund grinned, a little extra color in his face, and then turned to his friend. "You'll come with me into the March, Phillip? I guess our host has told you where I must go and why. It will not be an easy journey."

"It is what I was sent here for, My King."

"Aslan?"

"Yes, My King. He told me when the Falcon was killed that I was to come here and wait for you. That you would need me."

"I wondered where you'd gone that day. I thought . . . " Edmund bit his lip.

"You thought I'd abandoned you?"

Edmund ducked his head against the Horse's neck again. "It doesn't matter now."

The Horse nibbled the back of his hair, nudging him almost off his feet. "Only Aslan's orders could have made me leave you that day."

Edmund clung to him for a moment more, and then, after quickly clearing his throat, he inspected the provisions in the pouches on his saddle.

"I see you have everything we'll need." He turned to King Lune, clasping his hand again. "You've been more than generous, Your Majesty. I will see your kindnesses repaid the moment I am able."

"No need," Lune assured him. "No need. My only reward will be welcoming you back here when your task has been completed and seeing the High King whole and hale when next I come to Cair Paravel."

Edmund swung into the saddle, his face suddenly grim with determination. "I pray that will be soon. With Aslan's help, I shall see it is."

He tousled Corin's fair hair and, with a final farewell, turned Phillip towards the west.

OOOOO

Peter struggled towards the light, towards the coolness against his cheek and the soothing moisture at his lips.

"Peter? Peter."

Someone was stroking his hair and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He didn't have to puzzle over it this time. He knew that sweet, clear voice even before he opened his eyes.

"Lucy."

His own voice sounded thin and cracked, but she smiled at it, still stroking his hair. "Good morning. Are you feeling any better?"

He was glad she didn't make him ask for water or even seem to expect him to answer her question. She just patted his face and lips again with the cool, wet cloth and then set it down in exchange for his silver cup. The water was ice cold, perhaps it was pure melted snow, and he drank greedily of it.

"Not too much," she warned, pulling the cup away from him. "Not so fast."

He sank back against the pillows, shivering all of a sudden, and she tucked the coverlet up around him, only half scolding.

"See now?"

"Please," he murmured, grasping her wrist to bring the water close again and she finally relented.

"Just a little more, I mean it."

He drained the cup and then lay there clinging to her, shivering again.

"Stubborn thing." She scowled fondly down on him. "Now if you get a chill, Susan will blame me."

"Tell her it was by command of the High King."

His low laugh turned into a hollow cough, but she pretended not to be bothered by it.

"How about some breakfast?" she asked, her bright eyes hopeful, but the thought of food made his stomach roil.

"Now don't make that face, Peter. Some food would do you good."

"In a while," he pled. "Please, Lu, not just now. It's still so hot."

She felt his forehead and frowned, but didn't say anything else. He remembered how happy she'd been the night before, at least he thought it was the night before, when she'd said that he felt a bit cooler.

He squeezed her arm. "Couldn't I have another drink, Lu?"

She drew his head into her lap, caressing his cheek as she did. "In just a little while, I promise. Couldn't you eat something instead?"

He only sighed and shifted to his side. "Who was that man?"

"Hmm?"

"He was here last night. Talking."

She smiled indulgently and tucked an unruly lock of hair behind his ear. "Was he? What did he say?"

"I– I don't remember. I just don't think she was very happy."

"She?"

"He was talking to her." He knit his brow. "She, uh . . . I dunno."

"I think you must have been dreaming, Peter."

He thought for a while longer, trying to grasp faded little wisps of memory that hovered just out of his reach, but he was sure those weren't all illusions. Someone had been there. Maybe it didn't matter.

"I don't think I want any more of that medicine," he said finally. "It tasted nasty, and it made me too hot again."

Lucy's indulgent smile faded. "What medicine?"

"Mightn't I have some more water now?"

"Peter, what medicine? Who gave you medicine?"

He only winced away from her, the effort intensifying the pain in his head. "Can't remember."

"The only one in here last night was Susan."

"Oh."

Maybe it just didn't matter. He was too tired to bother with it anymore. He only wished Lucy would give him more of that cold water and not look so worried.

**Author's Note: The words of encouragement Aslan speaks to Edmund at Anvard are paraphrased from Isaiah 41:9-13 which seems remarkably pertinent to Edmund in his situation, especially in the King James Version. The "king's prayer" Edmund remembers** **is from Shakespeare's Richard III, Act V, Scene Two. OldFashionedGirl95 was again a huge help in making this story fit for consumption, from brainstorming to proofreading and the myriad steps in between. I am ever grateful.**

–**WD**


	12. Connivance

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

CONNIVANCE

"Of course there wasn't anyone else in the room." Susan's full lips tightened with annoyance as she picked through Lucy's store of handkerchiefs, searching for the nicest ones. "Really, Lu, these days Peter doesn't know what he's doing half the time. He says he didn't open his doors and put out his fire when he nearly froze to death, but he must have. His guards didn't see anyone enter or leave the room. It was the same as last night, and I was with him the whole time."

Lucy sighed, wishing she could disagree, wishing something, the healers, the cordial, anything, would help their brother. "I suppose he has been a bit confused."

"A bit?"

"All right," Lucy admitted, "very confused. He does seem better today though, don't you think?"

"Much better." Susan gave her little sister's cheek a maternal pat and then went over to her wardrobe, deciding which of Lucy's dresses would be most appropriate for a diplomatic visit. "So I don't want you to worry about him while you're gone."

"Are you sure I should–"

"Lucy, we've been over this a dozen times. One of us has to go. Obviously Peter can't, and someone must stay and look after him and take care of everything else here at the Cair."

"But I could–"

"You could, but you know dealing with any of the islands is your responsibility. There will be a war between the Lone Islands and the Seven Isles over those sea lanes if we don't step in and sort things out right away. We can't let something like that happen, can we?"

Lucy frowned, knowing her sister was right. "But if you went–"

"I wouldn't handle it half as nicely as you. You do feel well enough to go, don't you? I know it hasn't been very long since–"

"I feel fine, I promise. I just don't think–"

"It's only a short trip. And you know if you stayed here you and Gil would row endlessly over every little thing he tried to do to help."

"He's a bit too presumptuous lately, if you ask me."

"Don't be silly." Susan selected a gown of aquamarine silk and another of rose-colored lace and laid them out on the bed with the others already there. "He's been kind and helpful. I couldn't possibly have gotten through all this without him, especially with you ill all that time. I'm sure Peter wouldn't have either."

"Too helpful, I say. Too willing to take on things he has no right to. He acts like _he's_ the High King."

"Peter trusts him." Susan added a gown of black velvet trimmed with pearls to the pile on the bed. "And so do I. He's been nothing but a perfect gentleman."

"A little too perfect."

Lucy tossed her sheathed dagger on top of her gowns, and Susan shook her head.

"There's no pleasing you, is there?"

_You're a trifle too easily pleased_, Lucy thought darkly, but she said nothing. She merely added a pair of boots to the variety of satin and velvet slippers her sister had selected for her.

Susan frowned. "Must you take those tatty old things along? The dagger's bad enough."

"Fine," Lucy muttered, tossing the boots back into the bottom of her wardrobe.

"Oh, don't pout," Susan snapped. "Peter and Edmund aren't here to see and rush over to pet you."

She froze the moment she said it, her eyes filled with sudden tears, but she only swallowed hard and turned back to the gowns she had laid out.

"What do you think? These should be enough for a few days, shouldn't they?"

"Susan–"

Susan lifted her head, her mouth set in a firm line. "We have to go on with our lives now, Lucy. All of us. I know how you feel about what had to be done, but it's over now. He's not coming back."

Lucy gave her an equally determined look. "It's not over. You and Peter are wrong about him. I won't argue with you about it just now, but when Peter is well, we _are_ going to talk about it. And I'm going to talk to Edmund about it, too. I'll go into Archenland and find him if I have to."

Susan merely gave her an even smile. "Would you like to take my pearls with you to the islands? You look lovely in them."

"Thank you," Lucy said with a cool smile of her own, "but I don't think so. This isn't a pleasure trip, and I'm not trying to catch the eye of any new suitors."

"All right. Do you have enough–"

"Susan, I can see to all this. Maybe you'd better go back and look after Peter."

Susan's lips trembled slightly. "Do come see him before you leave."

"I will." Lucy's stern expression finally softened. "I'm not leaving until tomorrow morning."

Susan surprised her with a tight hug. "We didn't want to lose you, too. We had to–"

"I know," Lucy said, her own voice suddenly as broken as her sister's. "I know."

They clung together for a long moment, and then Susan finally pulled away, her smile a little more genuine this time. "Come tell him goodnight then, won't you, before you go to bed?"

Lucy nodded and smiled, too. "Of course I will."

OOOOO

Edmund put a few more sticks of wood on the fire and huddled closer to it. He had hoped to find another cave to sleep in on his way to the Western March, but nightfall had forced him to stop and make camp where he was. At least this little cleft in the mountainside gave him and Phillip some shelter from the winter wind and kept the fire from being blown out.

He was too on edge to sleep yet, though Phillip had urged him to. Instead, he looked over some of the things Aslan had instructed King Lune to pack for him. Besides a generous store of dried beef and venison, some hearty brown bread, a few apples and a number of cherry tarts, there was a skin of sweet cider and even such niceties as salt and cubed sugar. There was also a little silver flask, stoppered but empty, and a small brass mortar and pestle.

"What do you suppose those are for?" Philip asked, eyeing them as he munched the handful of sugar cubes Edmund had given him.

"I dunno," Edmund said as he packed it all back into the saddlebags.. "If Aslan sent them, I'm sure there's a reason. Seems we're prepared for everything."

Phillip snorted. "For everything, My King, except you fainting for lack of food and rest."

"I ate! And I did stop for the night."

"Only because it was too dark to see anymore. And I may be a Horse, but even I know three bites of venison and two little tarts aren't enough to make a boy a decent supper." Phillip gave him a stern look. "What did you tell me King Lune said?"

Edmund sighed. "It won't help me or Peter if my quest fails because I'm too tired to complete it."

Phillip eyed him expectantly, and Edmund finally opened the pack again.

"Fine." He pulled out several strips of beef, a sizeable chunk of bread and another of the tarts. "Is that sufficient?"

Phillip nodded. "It's a start."

"Susan," Edmund muttered halfway under his breath, and he could have sworn the Horse chuckled.

OOOOO

The sun had barely peeped over the far edge of the sea when Lucy set sail on_ The Morning Dove_. _The Dove _was a trig little thing, sleek and fast and as beautiful as the bird she was named for. Peter had made his littlest sister a present of the ship early in the spring and had given Lucy the privilege of naming her when she was first launched.

"Actually, Lu, it's 'mourning dove,'" Susan had said, "not 'morning dove.'"

Lucy had only grinned. "But that's such a sad name for a very sweet little bird. I like this better."

This now wasn't so joyous an occasion as that maiden voyage had been, and Lucy was disappointed to see that the Red Dwarf who usually captained the ship would not be doing so on this trip. Since this was such a sudden and unexpected trip, there hadn't been time to send for him and _The Dove_'s regular crew.

Telling herself she hadn't come aboard to socialize anyway, Lucy had given the young Galman in charge of_ The Dove _only the briefest of greetings before quickly making her way to her cabin and settling in. The sooner they set sail, the quicker she would be back.

She hated leaving at all. Peter had looked a little bewildered at the news of her abrupt departure, but he had agreed with Susan that Lucy would be the best one to deal with any problems between the Lone Islands and the Seven Isles and that those problems were best seen to before they could escalate. Lucy was grateful just to see him lucid and a little less feverish than he had been, so she put on her bravest face and kissed him goodbye, promising she would return with nothing but renewed amity and understanding between the disgruntled parties and making him promise to be completely well when she did.

As always, Lucy looked through her cabin windows until she could no longer see Cair Paravel glimmering on the shore. Then, with a swift prayer for her loved ones, especially for Edmund wherever he was, she lay down on her bed and let the motion of the ship lull her into a refreshing nap.

OOOOO

"And how fares my king this afternoon?"

Peter looked at Sir Gilfrey blearily, still half asleep and trying not to cringe at the too-cheerful voice. Where was Lucy? She always gave him cold water to drink and didn't make his head hurt. No, Lucy was going on a journey somewhere, he remembered that much.

"Susan–?"

"The Queen Susan has been called away for just a moment, Your Majesty. But as we have some important matters to discuss, I thought now might be an opportune moment–"

"Matters?"

"It pains me to trouble Your Majesty at such a time, but they must be seen to as soon as possible." Gilfrey held a sheaf of official-looking documents and began laying them out on the coverlet where Peter could see them. "There is the treaty with Calormen and the trade agreements with Galma as well as the matter of clarifying the borderline between Narnia and Archenland in the western part of the mountains. Some of the northern settlements have petitioned for increased military patrols against the giants and the Merfolk are asking that you–"

"Wait. Wait. Please." Peter pressed one hand to the side of his head, trying to keep it from splitting into pieces. "Um, couldn't Susan or– or Lucy–"

"The Queen Lucy has gone to see to things in the islands, Majesty."

"Yes. Right."

"And I fear the Queen Susan already has much to see to, especially now that your brother is . . . no longer here."

Peter winced at the white-hot spike of pain that stabbed through his skull. "Had to do it. Had to."

"Of course you did, Sire. And I know it was no easy decision for you to make. But, unless you appoint someone to act on your behalf, you must continue to see to such matters." The Knight held out a document. "If Your Majesty would be so good as to read this over, particularly paragraphs seven through forty-four and fifty-nine through seventy, and then compare it to this declaration Calormen sent to Telmar, perhaps you will more readily understand how urgent–"

"I don't– " Peter squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away as the nausea rose in his throat. "Not now, Gil. No. I can't."

"But, Sire–"

"Could you give me some of that water?"

"Certainly, My King. In a moment. First, all these matters require your signature and your seal."

"Susan–"

"Her Majesty is already overwhelmed with her own duties. I would help her, of course, but I haven't the authority. Now, if Your Majesty would be so good as to review this proclamation regarding the western edge of the Shuddering Wood. Now that King Edmund cannot–"

"Please, Gil, just some water."

"Of course, Sire. Once you've signed each of these documents. There are little more than a score of them."

Peter opened his eyes, bewildered to find a quill pressed into his limp fingers.

"Or you might wish to sign just this one." The Knight smiled and held out a single sheet of paper, a neat, simple page without too many words. "It will confirm your consent to letting me see to matters on your behalf until you wish to do so again yourself. I will gladly take the burden from Your Majesty's shoulders and ensure our beloved Narnia is well looked after."

Peter stared at the quill and then at the paper. No, he was the High King. It wasn't right to expect someone else to take on his duties. It was good of Gil to want to help, but Narnia was his to look after, to protect, and he had failed her these past few weeks just as he had failed his brother. He was failing her still.

He looked at the papers piled around him and licked his parched lips. What had Gil said about Calormen having a treaty with the Merfolk and giants wanting to set up trade in the Shuddering Wood? If he could just see clearly enough to read all those documents, surely he could figure out what needed to be done. He wasn't going mad, Edmund had promised he wasn't. If he could only make his head stop spinning–

"Your Majesty needs rest, it is plain to see. You need sign only this one page, and I will see to everything else for you."

Peter pushed that neat little page aside, and took up the densely lettered stack of papers nearest him. But the words swam before his eyes, and he was forced to lay the papers down again before he was well and truly sick on them.

"Gil, please, something to drink."

He heard the sweet sound of water poured from the pitcher into his cup and reached blindly towards it, but his hand was abruptly stopped.

"After you've seen to your duties, My King." Again the Knight pressed the quill into his grasp. "Or, at the least, provided for them to be seen to."

"Gil–"

"What do you prefer, My King? Shall we start with the Calormene treaty? Or decide how best to deal with the giants? Of course, there is the slave trade in the Lone Islands that must be seen to before it becomes a problem. This report–"

"Gil, please."

"Certainly, Sire. In just a moment." Still smiling, the Knight swirled the water in the cup. "It will still be cold after you've seen to these matters. There's nothing so refreshing as melted snow, is there?"

Again Peter licked his lips. Again he took up some of the papers. And again the letters on them whirled and writhed before his eyes until he was forced to set them down.

"Clearly, My King, you aren't able to look after things as you ought. It seems only right that you should provide for them to be seen to, does it not? As the High King, surely that is your duty. You cannot mean to merely neglect these matters and let your kingdom suffer for it."

It did make sense. It made perfect sense. If Peter couldn't see to these things himself, he ought to at least make sure they were all taken care of. It was only temporary after all. When he was well again, and they all assured him he'd be well again, he would see to things himself once more. Meanwhile, who better to stand in for him than Gil? Gil had been a brick ever since they'd come back from Ettinsmoor and even before that. Gil was his friend, his best friend now that Edmund–

The Knight offered him the single page once more along with the little silver inkwell from the desk. With his help, Peter dipped the quill into the ink and managed to scrawl his name at the bottom of the paper. Gil immediately took the paper from him, smiling still.

"There. No more than that. Now, one last small matter and Your High Majesty needn't worry about anything else."

His eyes fixed on the silver cup, Peter hardly heard what he said. "Hmm?"

"The ring with your seal, Sire. I must have it to carry out your wishes." The Knight lifted Peter's unresisting hand and easily slipped the ring from his thin finger. "There now, and here is your fresh, cool water."

Peter seized the cup, downing the contents in one desperate gulp and then lying back on his pillows panting with the effort. "More. Please."

But the Knight was gathering up all the papers he had brought with him and didn't seem to hear.

"Gil–"

"Peter. You're awake." Susan swept into the room, her arms full of table linens dyed a nauseating shade of green. "I don't know what they were thinking in the laundry. The banquet is meant to honor the Terebinthians not insult them. This is nothing like the green in their banners. How are you feeling?"

Peter blinked at her. "Fine. I'm– just a little thirsty. Could you–"

"I would be happy to see to the preparations for you, My Queen, if you'd like." The Knight took the linens from her and set them on the desk. "But first I thought you ought to be aware of this."

He handed Susan the paper Peter had just signed. Susan read it over, her delicate brows lifted, and then she looked from Peter to Gilfrey and back to Peter again.

"Do you– Are you sure all this is necessary, Peter?" She smiled at the Knight and squeezed his hand. "You've been such a help to us all, Gil, and we're very grateful, but Peter–"

He brought her hand to his lips. "I am here to serve you and yours, Lady, and our dear kingdom. But I bring this to your attention because I fear it is too great an honor for one such as myself. As you see, the High King is improving. Surely he will not need me to act on his behalf for long. Perhaps not at all."

Susan turned back to her brother. "Are you sure, Peter? Would you rather I–"

"You're already overwhelmed with your own duties," Peter said, wondering vaguely how the words came so easily to him all of a sudden. "You need someone with the authority to help you when I can't. That's all."

She returned his smile, looking genuinely relieved. "If you're sure. It has been a little much sometimes."

"I don't want you to worry anymore, Su." Peter leaned back against his pillows again. "Gil will see to everything."

Gil had turned to fiddle with something at the desk, and then Peter heard him pour more water into his cup.

"Your drink, Sire."

Peter drank it down again, but this time the water was faintly bitter, not sweet as it had been when Lucy gave it to him the day before, and it made him suddenly hot, not cool.

"Shall we attend to the banquet preparations now, My Queen?" Gil took Susan's arm and turned her towards the door. "Rest well, My King," he added with a smile. "And pleasant dreams."

OOOOO

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Lucy's eyes flew open, and she stood up and looked out at the tossing waves. It couldn't be more than mid-afternoon, she was certain, but there was a strange look to the sky. It had been clear and blue when they left Cair Paravel, but now it was a greenish gray, nearly the color of the wintry sea and darker by the moment.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

What was that? And what was going on topside? There was a splash, and she saw that one of the boats had been lowered into the water, manned by a couple of the sailors. What were they doing?

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The sound was coming from either side of her cabin, some sort of hammering and splitting wood, and she realized the ship was listing to one side. She flew to her door, but it wouldn't open.

"Hello?" She yanked on the doorknob and then pounded with both fists. "Can someone hear me? Let me out!"

She could hear the crew up on deck, orders to load the boats and prepare to pull away, but no one seemed to hear her.

"Please! I'm in here! Someone let me out!"

She turned to get her dagger, hoping to be able to free herself, and realized one side of the room was quickly filling with water. Oh, Aslan! They had scuttled the ship and meant to leave her to drown!

She rummaged through her chest full of gowns and slippers and underthings and found her precious dagger. At once she began prying at the lock, hacking at the wood, desperate to do anything to get that door open.

"Please, Aslan," she begged. "Help me! Do something!"

She thought of breaking one of the windows, but the way the ship was tilted now, she was afraid that would only sink her more quickly. She could see the sky had grown darker, even in just the past few minutes, and the wind was whipping up. One of the little boats was pitching dangerously, the men drenched in icy water, cursing it and each other.

"Aslan!" She redoubled her efforts to open the door, but _The Dove _was soundly built, and she knew already it was no use. "Aslan, please, do something!"

There was a deafening crack of thunder, blinding lightning forked across the now-black sky. Rain was coming down in sheets, and she saw one of the small boats pitch and go under.

Water was pouring into the cabin, faster and faster, and she decided it would be better to swim for it rather than be trapped at the bottom of the sea. But the windows were small, the glass thick and heavily leaded, designed to withstand the weather and even submersion. They also withstood the chair she smashed against them.

"Aslan!" she shrieked, frustrated tears streaming down her face, and with a sudden groan, _The Dove _heeled to one side and black water filled the cabin.

**_Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 has, as always, been a great help to me on this story. And Laura Andrews has yet again given me the benefit of her fresh view of things. Thank you, dear ones!_**

**_–WD_**


	13. Cozenage

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

COZENAGE

_I wish I had worn my boots._

It was an odd thought to have, and perhaps her last one, but maybe if she had on her sturdy boots instead of these frivolous velvet slippers, she might have been able to kick out the cabin windows. Still, it didn't seem so urgent now. The dark water seemed inviting, not terrifying, and Lucy let her tired legs drift under her, let her suddenly heavy dagger slip out of her grasp, let her eyes flutter closed.

Something creaked and shuddered behind her, and she was pulled against a solid, sleekly muscled chest by strong, sleekly muscled arms. With a dreamy smile, eyes still closed, she nestled into them. Of course he would come for her. He always came for her.

"Peter."

The word floated in little bubbles out of her mouth.

OOOOO

It was late when Edmund and Phillip reached the western end of the Archenland border. Just beyond, where the trail turned north into Narnia's Western March, there stood a pavilion, its silk the vivid red of the Lion's standard. Before it, ruddy with the rays of the setting sun, stood the Centaur Prophet.

Stormseer's coat was a rich golden brown, as was the hair that fell thickly over his back and shoulders. There was a stern nobility in his bearded face, and his eyes, as silver as Lucy's Eastern Sea, spoke of solemn wonders and the wisdom of Aslan.

Still some way off, Edmund dismounted and approached on foot, bowing when he came close.

"Greetings, Stormseer."

"Hail, King." The stoic Centaur bowed in return, his voice deep and rich. "Aslan's blessings upon His chosen. And hail, noble Horse. Will you come in and refresh yourselves?"

With an uncertain nod of his head, Edmund led Phillip inside. Stormseer's Faun attendants brought the Horse a bucket of oats and led Edmund to a table laid with a bountiful banquet. Thanking them, Edmund sat but did not eat.

"The food does not please you, King Edmund?" The Centaur crossed his brawny arms over his chest. "I am told I must proceed no further until Your Majesty has eaten well."

Edmund suspected he heard a snicker from the vicinity of the oat bucket, but he did not smile.

"I am grateful for your hospitality and for Aslan's provision," he said, "but, first, Aslan said I must ask you about the prophecy you sent to Cair Paravel. To the High King and to the Queen Susan, my sister. I assume you remember the message."

Stormseer nodded gravely. "I remember it well, Lord King."

_. . . he was an Adder still. _

The pain of those words washed over Edmund afresh. How could it be? Yet Aslan had called this Centaur His faithful prophet. The creature was steeped in His fragrance, lit from within with the knowledge of Him. How could his message have been anything but true?

"Then how is it," Edmund asked, "that you yet call me King?"

"And should I not, Sire? Did the Great Lion set you upon your throne in any measure less than He did our gracious Queens or the High King himself?"

"Then– what did it mean?"

Stormseer lowered his head in reverence. "Aslan alone gives meaning, Lord King. I merely tell the visions He sends."

"But, if I am the Adder–"

"Adder, Sire?"

"The Adder you wrote of," Edmund said. "Nestmate of the three Eagles."

The Centaur's silver eyes flashed. "There was nothing of Adders or Eagles in the message I sent to Cair Paravel. Who has made such a claim?"

"Windswift, the Falcon, brought the message from you." Edmund felt such a flood of bewildered relief, he could hardly form a coherent sentence. "He was killed bringing it. Peter cut the parchment from his leg himself."

"And I myself placed it there. Yet someone has dared replace it with another and proclaim in Aslan's name and in mine a vision the Lion has not sent." The Prophet's face was grim. "Windswift was a worthy soldier of Narnia, and I am sorry to hear of his loss. It is a grievous wrong, Majesty, and not one the Lion will suffer lightly."

"There have been many grievous wrongs of late, good Stormseer." Edmund hesitated a moment, still a little dazed by the realization. "Might I– Might I know the message you did send?"

The Centaur inclined his head. "The Great Lion revealed to me this, Lord King: Mighty Paws have planted the Oak and the Ivy, the Birch and the Holly, but there has also sprung up in their shade a hardy and fair Yew. If the Oak and the Birch are cut down and the Holly uprooted, let the Ivy remember that, though the Yew seems a sturdy support, its bark is deadly."

Edmund glanced over a Phillip who was watching him with wide eyes. The Oak, the Ivy, the Birch and the Holly. Could it be any more plain? And the Yew– Who had sprung up in the shade of the Sovereigns, hardy and fair, smooth and gracious and oh so willing to lend his support?

Edmund did not ask for more explanation. It was Stormseer's place to tell the vision, not interpret it. Lips pressed tight, he turned back to the Centaur.

"Aslan said you would tell me what I must do once I was here."

Stormseer's expression softened. "First, Sire–"

"I know. I know." Edmund stuffed a piece of buttered brown bread into his mouth. "I'm eating. Please, tell me."

"As you say, Lord King. In the morning, I will lead you to a mountain that stands not far from here. At the top of this mountain grows a tree, and it is the fruit of this tree, or rather its juice, that will work against the potion poisoning the High King."

"And it will have fruit this time of the year?"

The Centaur nodded. "It is called the Canicule Tree. It is always green, and the winter does not harm it. It blooms once each summer and once each winter, though the winter fruit has a thicker rind, keeping it fresh despite the cold. There is healing in it."

Edmund nodded, committing the words to memory.

"But the fruit is not abundant," Stormseer said. "You must gather all you can. Fill your flask with the juice if you wish to have enough to do good to the High King. There will not be more until summer comes to the mountains."

The Centaur stopped, looking expectantly at him, and Edmund forced himself to eat some of the beef pie and roast potatoes that had been set before him. He also forced himself to stay seated where he was. The night was falling fast, and there was no use trying to set out in utter darkness. No use letting impatience overmaster wisdom. He took another bite of the beef pie.

"And this juice will cure him? For certain?"

"It will begin to cure him, Sire," Stormseer said. "But know that, if the Xerasthenia has been given to him too long or in too great a dose, even the Canicule cannot save him."

The tender beef in its gravy and flaky crust was suddenly sawdust in Edmund's mouth, but he forced himself to swallow it down. "We will leave at first light?"

The Centaur bowed. "So please you, Majesty. For now, strengthen yourself for what lies before you."

Edmund ate what he could of the banquet's bounty, though he tasted none of it. Phillip finished his oats, and even the Centaur ate heartily. Afterwards, Stormseer bowed once more and left with his attendants to contemplate the night sky. Edmund only paced, considering the words of Stormseer's true vision. He would not make a judgement without proof, but this certainly added to the suspicions he already had, suspicions that had seemed groundless and petty when he was at home. With his way seemingly clear, perhaps by now this Yew had stretched out his hand further than he could safely draw it back. Perhaps now he felt secure and wasn't so careful to hide his tracks. Perhaps now there would be solid proof against him.

And, oh, Susan! She had been friendly enough to this interloper, but that was only out of politeness, wasn't it? Surely she wouldn't be taken in by such a smooth-talking snake. Peter was sick and confused, Edmund knew, but he would still look after her, wouldn't he? The Xerasthenia hadn't overcome him yet. And, Lucy, bless Aslan, Lucy had recovered from that strange freezing illness. Edmund knew his valiant sister. She would never stand for any mischief making while she was there. She would protect their sister, even if the Gentle Queen were to be deceived by an overly solicitous nature and a handsome face. Besides, Susan was the logical one. The practical one. She couldn't–

"Edmund."

Edmund turned to see Phillip lying down, legs under him, next to the thick pallet of bedding that had obviously been laid out for Stormseer's royal guest. The Horse nodded his head towards it.

"It is getting late, My King, and we will have much to do come morning."

Edmund drew a hard breath and lifted his eyes to the few stars he could see through the flap of the tent.

"Aslan, oh, please, Aslan, keep them all safe until I can get home." He pressed his trembling lips together. "And help me get there soon."

He took a moment to steady himself, and then, bidding Phillip goodnight, he extinguished the candles and stretched out on the pallet. He was still certain he wouldn't sleep, but he knew he was expected to try. After tossing and fidgeting for what seemed like hours, he finally exhaled heavily.

"Phillip?"

The Horse made a half-startled huffing sound in the darkness. "My King?"

"If Stormseer himself sent Windswift on his way, then the message must have been changed after the Falcon was shot down."

Phillip seemed unfazed by the abrupt conversation. "True."

"It never occurred to me that the one we got might be false."

"But who had the opportunity to change them out, My King? I heard that Windswift was brought at once to the High King."

"No. I hadn't thought of it before, but the body was first brought to my sister, Susan, and then to Peter."

Phillip didn't ask who had brought it, who had fetched it from where it had first fallen. Edmund didn't say. They both knew. How easy it must have been to switch the message from one that would warn the Sovereigns of the deadly Yew to one that would divide them and advance his evil plan. How well prepared he had been and how well supported. Someone had to have been waiting in the wood, waiting for the Falcon to come. Before that, someone must have sent word to Cair Paravel that Windswift was on his way from Stormseer with a message.

Edmund sighed and stared up into the darkness. "It's all been carefully planned, hasn't it? Even more than I already suspected."

"It would take all that and more," Phillip said softly, "to convince the High King you had turned against him. To convince him he had to send you away."

"The poison."

Edmund turned over and laid his head against the Horse's side, knowing the torment Peter had suffered, was suffering still, thinking Edmund had betrayed him and the girls, probably thinking that betrayal was due to some failure of his own, fighting sickness and nightmares and confusion, even fearing he was incurably mad. _Oh, Aslan, be with him._

With a shuddering breath, Edmund pressed closer to Phillip's side. The Horse nickered softly and rested his head over Edmund's shoulder.

"We're going to help him, My King. And the Queens are with him. He is not alone."

Edmund reached up to stroke the thick mane, managing a smile in the darkness before he settled down to sleep. The girls were there. Peter wasn't alone. And even if Susan was deceived, Lucy would never be. Brave Lucy was there to look after them both until Edmund could get back home. Thank Aslan for Lucy.

OOOOO

Susan winced at the afternoon sunlight that poured through Peter's chamber windows. Her eyes were raw with weeping, her throat raw with sobs and her heart–

Her heart would never be whole again.

_We didn't want to lose you, too. _

It was one of the last things she had said to Lucy. To laughing, golden-haired Lucy. To stubborn, loving, precious Lucy. To Lucy who had gone down when the storm hit_ The Morning Dove_, down into the silver sea that she loved. Into the east. Into Aslan's country.

Susan didn't like to think of Aslan now. Edmund was gone and Lucy, too, and Aslan was silent. Peter lay burning and insensible in her arms, and Aslan was silent. How long had it been since she had thought to call on Him? It didn't seem right to do it now. It seemed rather obvious that He had no interest in her life or her grief anyway.

He had loved Lucy though. Everyone always knew that. Maybe that ought to be enough now. Wherever she was, she was safe. She was loved. She wasn't abandoned to the cruelties of this world or any other. Not like–

Susan felt Peter shudder against her, and she drew him closer. He grimaced in pain and his chapped lips parted in a silent scream, but she didn't try to wake him. Edmund could have, even Lucy might, but Susan never could. She could only hold him and pat his hot face with a damp cloth and wait for the nightmare to pass.

He was never awake now. If he wasn't lying still as death, almost translucently pale and gleaming with sweat, he twitched and moaned in delirium, calling for Edmund or sometimes Lucy, sometimes, from some impossibly distant place in his memory, for Mum or Dad. Once in a while he startled Susan, her name a piercing cry on his lips and his eyes open, wide and blue and terrified. He would clutch her arms, her dress, and try to tell her something, something obviously and desperately urgent, but the words were garbled, and she could never make anything of them. Finally, frustrated, exhausted, he would sink back against her and be still again. And she could only weep.

For him. For Edmund. For Lucy. And, yes, for herself.

How could she not? Everyone she'd ever depended on was gone. Edmund had betrayed her. Lucy had left her. And Peter– Peter her rock, her protector, her guide, the one who had always been there, her High King, she was losing him, too.

But at least, as well as he could, he had provided for her. With his last coherent act, he'd made it possible for Gil to look after the kingdom. He'd made it possible for her to mourn in private, for her to have no duties but watching over him and wondering how she was to survive when he, too, was gone.

When Oreius and Sootquill and the other advisors and counselors had come to offer their sympathies at the loss of the Valiant Queen and the continued decline of the High King, she had thanked them with her accustomed grace. When they had expressed concern for the unilateral power Sir Gilfrey Becke suddenly wielded, she had directed them to the last document Peter had signed, the one that made plain his desire that the Knight should step, at least temporarily, into his place. And when the Knight himself had made the oh-so-delicate suggestion that a more permanent alliance between him and herself might still their objections and allow him to continue to see no kingdom concerns were allowed to trouble her, she didn't say yes.

But she didn't say no.

OOOOO

Edmund clung to the rock, catching his breath, waiting for his pounding heart to slow before he moved on, feeling the two empty pouches he carried swing from his shoulder. He had almost slipped, but just almost. It wasn't the first time. It likely wouldn't be the last. For once he was glad to be lighter and lankier than Peter.

He'd been forced to leave Philip and Stormseer behind where the trail ended. The Canicule Tree grew much higher up, above the clouds, rare and hidden and precious. It would save Peter, it had to, and Edmund would make his way up to it somehow. Even alone, he would.

The wind up here was cold, though the sky was clear and the sun was shining its winter best. He was careful to avoid the slick patches of ice that covered some of the crevices and the little pockets of drifted snow, and he kept alert, too, for something he was supposed to find along the way.

"When you are above the clouds," the Centaur had told him, "you will see among the rocks some yellow flowers, no bigger than your fingers' ends. Fill one pouch with them and bring them down with you. You will have need of them when you return to Cair Paravel."

Edmund had only nodded, knowing the Prophet would tell him what he needed to know when he needed to know it. No need to ask why such flowers would bloom in the snow. They did, and he needed them. That was all he had to know. That and Aslan.

He climbed another fifteen feet higher before he saw the first one, small and yellow, as Stormseer had told him. He plucked it and brought it to his nose. It had absolutely no scent. Even the leaves and the milky sap from its broken stem were completely odorless. He stuffed it into his pouch, adding handfuls more when they grew more abundant as he climbed higher.

By the time he reached the top, the first pouch was full. The second would hold the fruit that was the object of his climb. He took a moment to catch his breath and whisper a thankful prayer, and then he hauled himself over the last of the rocks for his first glimpse of the Canicule Tree. Its gnarled branches twisted out from its slender trunk, spreading out rather than up, the tree itself low and solitary on the mountaintop.

Leaves, blossoms and fruit, it was stripped bare.

**Author's Note: Thanks again and again to OldFashionedGirl95 for reviewing and to Laura Andrews for all her help.**

–**WD**


	14. Recreancy

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

RECREANCY

Edmund could only stand there panting, feeling the bite of the winter wind that blew across the mountaintop, tufting his hair and freezing his cheeks. He could only stand and stare.

The tree.

The low, gnarled tree Aslan had sent him to, the one that bore the fruit that would save Peter's life, it was bare.

It was bare.

Edmund could only stand there, muscles wrenched, hands scraped and bruised from the long climb, sweat trickling down his back, down the side of his face. Or were those tears?

He blinked his stinging eyes. How easy it would be to sink to his knees, pound his fists on the ground and scream out his frustration. To curse Aslan for letting this be. It couldn't be. Aslan couldn't have sent him so far, Stormseer couldn't have been unaware–

"Aslan," he breathed, and he heard a familiar cackle.

"Looking for something, Little Prince?"

It was the Hag, the Hag whose testimony had helped condemn him to banishment. She came from behind the rocks, gimlet eyes black and taunting, and she was eating something, a fruit he did not recognize. It was the reddish-purple of a plum, but a bit larger than that, and textured like an orange. The Canicule, it must be.

The Hag leered at him and took another deep bite, letting the yellowish juice run down her withered chin. In her other hand she held a string bag filled with the remainder of her harvest. He looked from the bag and back to her, and she cackled again.

"We knew you'd be here eventually. Your Lion cheats. Always has. But this time we won't let Him. We were ready for Him this time." She wiped her scaly arm across her beaklike mouth. "Pity He sent you so far for nothing."

He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of the dagger at his waist, and she clutched the bag closer, clawed fingers puncturing one of the fruits, letting the precious juice drip down into the snow, every wasted drop perhaps one less breath left for Peter.

"Put it down," he said, forcing his voice into calm command. "Put it down, and I leave you your life.

Her black eyes flashed and she moved to the edge of the mountainside, holding the bag out over empty air.

"Lay down your dagger, traitor, or your brother's life goes into the chasm." She turned her head birdlike to one side. "But perhaps not. The tree will bloom again come summer. There will be more fruit . . . if by then the High King still has need of it."

Peter would never last till summer. Perhaps it was too late for him already.

_You must not tarry_.

"Wait. Please." Edmund held his hands up, away from his weapon. "Just tell me. What do you want for the fruit?"

"Ah," she croaked, "Now we come to it. There is something, one thing, that would persuade me to give you what you want, Little Prince. One simple thing."

"What do you want?"

OOOOO

"He's worse, isn't he?"

Susan watched the Cherry Dryad healer as she pressed her delicate fingers to Peter's wrist. Cerise's eyes were fixed on his still face, her expression troubled. Susan would almost have said grief stricken.

"I fear so, My Queen. I had thought–"

She broke off, lips trembling, and Susan could only stare back at her, too numb anymore to feel the pain those words should have brought.

"And there's nothing to be done?"

How many times had she asked that now? About everyone she loved? About everyone she had lost?

Cerise squeezed Peter's hand and tucked it back under the coverlet. "There is one thing I might yet try, Your Majesty."

"What?"

The Dryad glanced at Susan and then fixed her eyes again on Peter's face. "Give me some time, Lady. I will do what I am able."

When she was gone, Susan stroked back the lank hair from her brother's forehead and then touched her fingers to the heavy bundle that lay in the bed next to him. She had found it earlier when her earring had come loose and skittered under his bed. Puzzled, she had dragged the bundle out and unwrapped it and then wept to see what it was. How he could keep it, she didn't know, but then again, it was something he would keep, even if it was torture to him every moment he looked at it. He must have kept it hidden, grieving over it ever since–

She had wrapped it up again, meaning to put it back where she had found it, but then she had realized Peter was looking at her, looking at it, half-coherent, reaching desperately for that unwieldy bundle and refusing to calm himself until she gave it to him. Then he had clutched it in his arms and slept again. She hadn't taken it from him since.

She wandered onto the balcony now and stared out over the beach. Peter. He wasn't getting well. It was no use pretending he was. She had seen miracles in her time, but evidently her store of them had run dry. She would soon be alone. No, she was alone already.

Peter wasn't going to hold her in strong, comforting arms. Edmund wasn't going to make her laugh with some scathingly witty remark. And Lucy–

Susan caught her breath.

"Lucy."

She leaned over the stone railing, thinking her mind must have finally snapped.

"Lucy! Lucy!"

She picked up her heavy black skirts and ran back into the room.

"Peter! Oh, Peter, wake up!"

He didn't stir, and she rushed past him, into the corridor, calling for one of the guards to stay with the High King and then scurrying down the great marble stairway, down into the murmuring crowd of creatures in the courtyard.

"Lucy!" she cried, and Cronus, the Faun Chamberlain, stared at her, his usually ruddy face blanched.

"Queen Susan! Two of the guards claim to have seen–"

"I saw her! I saw her!"

Susan ran past him, through the grass and out to where she could again see the beach.

To where she could again see Lucy.

Flanked by a pair of Satyrs, she stumbled as she walked, blonde hair tangled as seaweed down her back, sodden dress pulled off her shoulder on one side, sea-stained velvet skirts clinging to her trembling legs. Susan ran to her, black satin slippers lost in the wet sand and tears streaming down her face.

"Lucy." She wrapped her younger sister in her arms, pressing kisses to her wet hair. "You're– you're alive!'

Lucy smiled vaguely, clinging to her. "It seems I am."

"Come on. Come inside."

Susan turned her towards the castle, supporting her as they walked through the growing crowd of smiling, cheering creatures.

"Peace, good friends," Cronus said, raising his hands. "Allow the Queens to retire for now. We rejoice at the return of our Valiant Lady, and it is certain she has a tale to tell, but we must possess ourselves in patience until she is ready to tell it."

Susan gave him a grateful smile and hurried her sister inside. She gave instructions to the Raccoon and the Crow who served as Lucy's ladies-in-waiting to prepare a bath and fresh bedding for their mistress's return, and then she hugged Lucy again.

"I thought we'd lost you, Lu. They told us–"

"Truly, Lady, it is a miracle." Sir Gilfrey hurried up to them and brought Lucy's hand to his lips. "All Narnia gives thanks for your safe return."

Susan was surprised to see a slight smile on her sister's face rather than the faint annoyance usually there when the Knight spoke to her. Gil looked at Lucy, his expression puzzled, almost wary, but she only smiled still and thanked him.

"Your ship, Lady, and all the crew were lost? We could only assume–"

Lucy took his arm for support. "I– I don't really know what to say. I was taking a nap in my cabin and then the storm came up and that's all I can tell you until I was on the beach." Again she smiled, a placid smile that didn't seem quite like her. "My pretty little _Dove_ is gone. And Peter made her so beautiful for me."

Over her head, Susan glanced at Gil, but he only returned a slight, cautioning frown.

"You should rest, Lady," he told Lucy. "Everything is well now."

"I have to tell Peter what happened."

"Peter's sleeping, Lu," Susan said. "You can see him later."

"But he'll be worried."

"He's been sleeping since you left, dear. He doesn't even know about the ship."

Something flickered in Lucy's eyes at that, but then she only sighed and smiled wistfully. "She was such a trig little thing. I hope he won't be cross to know I've lost her."

None of them said anything more. Gil escorted them to Lucy's chamber door and left them with a bow and more expressions of his delight to know that the Valiant Queen was restored to them. After Cerise declared she was uninjured and in need of nothing but rest, the ladies-in-waiting helped Lucy out of her ruined clothing and into the bath they had prepared. Susan sat beside the tub and carefully combed the tangles out of her fair hair.

"Are you sure you're all right, Lu?" Susan laid a shining, straight plait of hair over her sister's slender white shoulder and began smoothing the last snarled strand. "Don't you remember anything? How you got back home?"

Lucy played with some of the bubbles floating on the surface of the water. "I remember lying down to take a nap. And I remember wishing I had brought my boots with me. And after that, I was on the beach."

Susan gave her shoulder a pat. "I'm sure it will come back to you in time."

"When can I see Peter? He'll be worried about the ship."

"No he won't, Lu. He'll just be glad to know you're home again." Susan helped Lucy out of the bath and into a clean nightgown. "For now, you need to sleep."

One of the Naiad ladies-in-waiting turned back the coverlet on the bed, and Susan made her sister lie down. Then, when Lucy's eyes were closed and she was quiet, Susan went to her own chamber to change into fresh clothes herself. Her black shoes were buried somewhere on the beach and her black skirts were wet and sandy. Besides, what need was there for mourning now? At least not for a while yet.

OOOOO

"How fares my lady your sister, My Queen?" Sir Gilfrey took Susan's arm as she walked down the corridor towards Peter's quarters. "Has she told you anything about how she escaped death? Truly it cannot be by any common means, and I am most eager to hear the tale."

"She doesn't remember anything really. I don't know. Maybe she was under the water too long or hit her head or something. Cerise didn't find anything wrong though. Maybe it's just the shock of being in such a terrible situation. Still, that's not like her at all. Nothing ever fazes her."

"Indeed, no," Gilfrey said. "It is hardly the way of our vivacious Queen to be so subdued. I pray, as she is of the fair sex, that this mishap at sea when added to the many difficulties all of Your Majesties have suffered these past weeks has not proved too much for her delicate mind."

Susan stopped where they were. "Oh, Gil. You don't think she's become . . . unhinged, do you?" She clung more tightly to his arm. "I couldn't bear it, Gil. I couldn't."

"Dear Lady." He drew her into his embrace, pressing the tenderest of kisses to her temple. "You have endured more than any lady should have to bear alone. Have you thought again about what I asked of you? Even with the consent of the High King, there are those who find my poor efforts to manage things in his stead an affront. I know our good General and others have expressed their concerns. Without a more tangible show of your support, I cannot do all I wish to ease your burdens."

"I– I don't know, Gil. You're terribly sweet, and you don't know what it means to me that you've done so much to help. But I don't think I–"

She blushed and looked away.

"What, Dear Queen?"

"I couldn't be a wife to you, Gil. Not the way I ought to be. With everything that's happened, I couldn't think of any sort of . . . romantic attachment. If I said yes to you, it would be purely for the sake of keeping the kingdom running smoothly, and you deserve more than that." She looked up again, eyes brimming with tears. "After all that's happened, I just– I don't have anything left. There's nothing inside me to give. To you or anyone."

"Good Lady, you do me wrong. Know that I could never ask of you what you did not willingly offer. You are very dear to me, Lady, as my Queen and as the most precious treasure of my heart. It would be the greatest of honors if you would allow me to take you into my protection as only a husband can. With all reverence, I pledge I will ask no more than that."

She caressed the handsome curve of his cheek. He was like Peter in so many ways. So kind and thoughtful. So reliable.

"I will consider it, Gil. I promise."

He left her at Peter's door with another kiss of her hand and the wish the she would find the High King greatly improved. It took her a moment to realize that the Gryphon on duty outside the door was the same one she had left inside looking after Peter.

The Gryphon bowed his head at the displeasure on her face and then glanced towards the door. "I was dismissed, My Queen."

Susan stormed into Peter's room, wondering who would dare countermand her order, and then she stopped short. Peter lay there as he had before, feverish and still, but he looked more at peace than she had seen him for some little while. Next to him, cuddled close, was Lucy in her white nightgown, looking as sweet and untroubled as she had been when they first came to Narnia.

"Lucy." Susan shook her gently. "Lucy."

Lucy's lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. "Hmm?"

"What are you doing in here? You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I _was_ sleeping." Lucy smiled fuzzily. "I needed to see Peter. He doesn't know about _The Dove_."

"Lucy, please." Susan swallowed hard, trying to keep from crying again. "It doesn't matter about _The Dove_, all right? Peter won't be cross with you about it. It wasn't your fault."

"He's still sick, isn't he?"

Susan nodded. Wasn't it obvious enough?

Lucy only snuggled up next to Peter, smiling still, and then she noticed the unwieldy cloth-wrapped bundle on his other side. "What's that?"

"Please, Lu, don't."

"But what is it? He couldn't be very comfortable with that thing there. Can't you take it away?"

Susan gave her a brittle smile, determined not to cry. "He gets restless if I do. It's better to leave it."

"But what–"

Tears sprang to Susan's eyes. "It's Edmund's sword, Lu. Oreius broke it when he was sent away, and Peter kept the pieces. Edmund–"

Her voice faltered. She never spoke their younger brother's name. Not anymore. Not in Peter's hearing. She wasn't sure he could hear her now, of course, but she could see his brow was suddenly creased, his body tense, his breathing more rapid. He was dreaming, fighting another nightmare. Fighting regrets. Grief. Guilt. They had done what had to be done, hadn't they? Why should anyone feel guilty?

Murmuring something unintelligible, Peter patted the bedding blindly until he found the bundle and pulled it close again, curling his body protectively around it.

"Oh, Susan." For the first time today, Lucy looked upset, but then that docile expression returned to her face, and she laid her head on Peter's shoulder. "Don't be sad, Peter. Everything will be all right when Edmund comes home."

This time, Susan could barely hold on to that brittle smile. "You go to sleep now, Lu. I'll– I'll be back soon."

And she hurried from the room, unable to bear any more.

OOOOO

The inside of the pavilion was dim and cool, a place of quiet peace apart from the busyness of the camp. There was an indefinable richness here, a wild, fresh sweetness as well as a weighty solemnity, as if sunlight had a taste and pure gold a fragrance.

The Great Lion sat in the very center of the pavilion, majestic and unmoving.

"As you say, he is your lawful prey." His all-seeing eyes gleamed in the half-light. "As the statute was written on the fire-stones on the Secret Hill and engraved upon the scepter of My Father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea."

"Then you agree his blood is my property. You dare not deny me."

"Dare not?" The words came out in a low growl, the golden eyes narrowing. "And who are you to say what I might dare?"

"This law is the foundation upon which the very world was built, written by your own Father. Will you work against Him?"

"No." Again the Lion growled softly. "No, that can never be. Your claim is just. The treason gives you the right to blood."

"It does, and I shall have it. I must have it."

"You must," the Lion agreed. "And you shall. It cannot be denied."

"Then we have nothing more to say."

"No, there is more." Aslan drew a great breath. "I offer you a substitute."

"Substitute? What substitute? What will buy a traitor's blood?"

"My own."

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by the Lion's half-growled breaths.

"Willingly," He added at last. "I will give myself to you in exchange for his freedom. Innocent blood in the place of a traitor's. This the law allows, and in it the law would be fulfilled."

Again there was a long silence.

"Why? He has betrayed you. You chose him and called him to rule this place as King. You placed your trust in him, and yet he betrayed you. For trifles. For favors and riches and power. For sweeties. And you would give your blood for his? Why?"

Aslan's golden eyes were filled with grief and pain, and yet, more than with these, they were filled with infinite love. "Because he is mine."

"You are wrong." The words came in a low hiss followed by an almost-manic laugh. "He is mine. I refuse your offer. He is the traitor, and his is the blood that I will shed."

With that, Peter stalked out of the pavilion and into the garish sunlight.

There in the grass, with Lucy and Susan shielding him in their arms, knelt Edmund. Though the girls were young again, as young as when they had first stepped through the wardrobe and into Narnia, Edmund was not. He was his proper age, turned twenty, proud king and proven warrior, kneeling there in the blistering heat, awaiting his fate.

From what seemed a great height. Peter reached towards him. His hand, he realized, was deadly white, his fingers long and elegant and strong, so strong as he seized his brother by the front of his doublet and pulled him unresisting first to his feet and then off the ground entirely. Their sisters clung to him, weeping and pleading, trying to hold him where he was, but Peter was too strong for them all.

"We have a traitor in our midst," he said, his voice carrying cold throughout the camp. "For every treachery, I have the right to a kill."

Susan released her hold on Edmund and sank down into the grass, still weeping but no longer resisting. Lucy only tightened her hold.

"Peter, no. It's Edmund. Our Edmund. _Your _Edmund."

"Yes. My Edmund." With one deadly white hand, Peter pulled her away and flung her onto the ground next to Susan. "Every traitor belongs to me."

Then he looked at his brother. Edmund only stared back at him with pleading resignation in his dark eyes, and Peter glared down on him.

"You, boy, will die on the Stone Table. As is tradition."

Lucy scrambled back to her feet and reached her little hands up to his face. "Please, Peter. Please wake up."

He drew a sharp breath. The sun-scorched camp was gone, and the only light was the bits of winter sun that peeped around the edges of his curtains. Lucy was grown up again, and she leaned over him, her hands cool on his skin, her blue eyes full of worry.

"It's all right, Peter. Shh, it's only me. It's all right."

Heart pounding, he could only stare as she blotted the sweat from his face with her gentle fingers.

"Where's–? Where's Edmund?"

"Shh. We'll talk about it later."

"Where is he?"

He took hold of her arm, startling her or hurting her, he didn't know which, and she made a little squeak of a gasp. But she didn't answer him. She only looked at him, eyes full of tears.

"He's gone, isn't he?" He huddled against her. "I don't want to. I don't want to, Lu. Please, I'm not like her. I don't want to hurt him."

"Shh. You were only dreaming. It's all right."

She put her hand over his eyes, gently pressing them shut, and he was too weary to struggle for more than a moment.

It was still dark, but this was a different sort of blackness. Peter could feel the heat almost suffocating him. Blazing torches. Stifling night air. The press and stench of unwashed bodies, inhuman bodies, bodies that slunk and skulked and slithered. Creatures of darkness. Creatures of evil. His creatures. Somehow he knew they belonged to him.

He peered into the darkness of the trees that surrounded the clearing, waiting. Waiting. Impatient now. He had the right. The debt was owed, and he would have the promised price.

At last, from the darkness before him, there rose a low murmur. The crowd parted, and a tall, slender figure came into view, head bare but held high, dark eyes wide and uncertain, determined, lips and jaw set with purpose. Around him, the murmurs rose to taunts, insults vile and cutting. _Traitor. Betrayer. Cursed of Aslan. _But the object of their derision took no notice, paid no heed to the words or even the glancing blows hurled at him. He merely kept his eyes on Peter's, searching, uncomprehending. And Peter stood on the Stone Table above him, watching, triumphant.

"So you come."

There was something aflame in those dark eyes, something beyond fear and uncertainty.

"I follow my High King."

"Even if that leads you here?"

"Even so."

Peter stood for a moment, fixing him with hard eyes, and then he held out his hand. Edmund hesitated and then handed Peter his sword, the broken remains of his beloved sword. Peter took them, sticking the hilt piece in his belt but holding the other end, the pointed end, the razor-edged end in his bare hand, cutting himself in order to wield it.

"Come now." Peter gestured to the Table, ancient place of Deep Magic and sacrifice, and then he looked to his minions. "Bind him."

At his command, a host of misshapen creatures swarmed over the table, seized the victim and dragged him to his knees.

"No!"

Edmund struggled against them, and Peter put up one hand. The creatures stilled, not releasing their hold, but no longer attempting to tie their prisoner. Edmund struggled free of them, gaining his feet once more.

"There is no need. Say what you would have me do, My King."

Peter smiled, and he could feel the greed in that smile, the twisted pleasure in it. He would have his price. He would have blood.

"Come then," he said once more, this time gesturing at the Table on which he stood.

With his eyes still fixed on Peter's, Edmund came forward, came until he stood face to face with him, brown eyes on blue, dark on light, warm on cold.

"Peter," he murmured, a questioning plea in his eyes, but Peter only gestured to the Stone beneath them, his hand white and strong and deadly.

Edmund sank to his knees.

"It is the law." Peter laid a heavy hand on the bowed head. "It is just, and you are the Just King."

He twined his long white fingers into the thick black hair, pulling Edmund's head back, baring his pale throat for the broken blade. Peter could feel him trembling, but he did not struggle. He only looked at Peter, waiting. Waiting.

Peter twisted his neck more, hurting him, he knew, but still Edmund only waited. Waited and trembled and watched him with those searching dark eyes.

"What?" Peter demanded. "Is this not just? Blood payment for treason. It is the law. Is it not just?"

He forced Edmund's head back yet more, wrenching a low groan from him.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Peter demanded.

"Yes, it is just."

"So says the Just King. So says the traitor."

"I'm not what I was."

Edmund's voice was soft and sure, and Peter felt his own hand tremble. It was true. Aslan had– No, Edmund was an Adder. He was an Adder still.

"I suppose we can't help being what we are," Peter hissed, brandishing the already bloody blade before the dark, pleading eyes.

"I would never hurt you."

Peter pressed the blade against his brother's throat. "No more than we can help doing what we must."

Edmund reached one desperate hand up to him, catching his sleeve. "Peter, I lo–"

A quick flick of his wrist was enough. The hand on his sleeve convulsed once, and then his brother sagged against him, his breath warm against Peter's white hand and then gone.

He lay on the unyielding stone, lay in the life blood that pooled under Peter's boots. There was no magic deeper still to bring the dead to life again. There was only the law and the blade and the blood. There was only Edmund dead at his feet and by his hand, but his hand wasn't white anymore. It was red. With Edmund's blood and his own, it was red.

And his creatures, unnatural and deformed, swarmed around him, howling and gibbering their delight at what he'd done, hot and foul and stifling, pressing him down and down into the blood and into the heat and into the darkness. And Edmund was dead and could not pull him back.

OOOOO

"What do you want?" Edmund asked again.

The Hag took another bite of the piece of fruit she held. Even over the stench she carried, he could smell the juice, a summery, fresh scent somehow like the fragrance that clung to the Lion's mane.

"What, Little Prince? For this rare and precious commodity? What could you give?" She swayed towards him. "What could a traitor give?"

"What do you want?"

"For your brother's life? For the life of our pretty High King? What will you give? The two of you and those wretched girls, you dared supplant the White Lady. Do you think I do not know that if the High King dies, you will not be a long while in this world? Do you think I do not know that, without their brothers, the Queens, too, would fall? And so my Lady is avenged."

"Please, no." Edmund's voice shook. "Just tell me. I'll give you anything."

"Anything, Little Prince? Truly?"

He nodded. She had hated him enough to lie about him. She no doubt hated him enough to kill him. It would be worth it. For Peter.

"Anything."

"You're a traitor," she hissed. "You're a cheat, just like your Lion."

"No, I swear. Anything in my power to give, I'll give it. I swear by Aslan."

She only scoffed. "That name means nothing to me."

"On my brother's life then."

"Is that not what we play for already, Little Prince?" She swung the bag of fruit before him, taunting him again. "But very well, here is my price. I will give you this fruit and ask no more of you than a few little words."

He looked at her warily. "What words?"

"Your High King's life will be spared. All you must do is renounce the Lion."

**Author's Note: Thanks to OldFashionedGirl95 for brainstorming and reviewing and especially for "the bundle," which was her brilliant idea. And to Laura Andrews for being so sweetly willing to lend her help. You're both the best!**

–**WD**


	15. Prevarication

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

PREVARICATION

"What?"

The blood beat hard in Edmund's ears and burned hot in his lungs. He couldn't. Never.

"Renounce the Lion," the Hag repeated, gimlet eyes gleaming, "and your High King lives."

"Why?" He clenched his trembling hands into fists. "Why that?"

The Hag cackled. "You said anything. Anything at all."

"Not that. I can't. Aslan–"

"You swore, Little Prince. By the Lion and on the life of the High King, you swore you'd do anything, and now I see you are a liar. A cheat, a traitor, and now a liar. It's in the blood. It's in the blood."

She squeezed the fruit she was eating, and more irreplaceable drops of juice dribbled from her scaly hand and sank into the snow. Without that juice, Peter would die.

"Why that?" Edmund's voice shook. "What good does it do you?"

"I do not seek my good but your harm. For what you did to my Queen, I seek nothing but your destruction. But I will be merciful. I will let you choose. Your brother or the Lion?"

Aslan or Peter. Peter or Aslan. An impossible choice, and she knew it. But Peter–

A terrible image flashed into his mind: Peter lying fevered and delirious, terrorized by nightmares, wasted and weak, barely clinging to life, awaiting the help Edmund would bring. Without the fruit the Hag still held, Peter had no hope. And without Peter, he was lost. The girls were lost. Narnia–

But without Aslan, _everything_ was lost.

Edmund gritted his teeth, forbidding the hopeless tears to come up into his eyes. He could see by the way the Hag was leering at him, taunting him with that bag full of fruit, taunting him with his brother's life, that she knew there was no choice. Either way was destruction for him, for all of the Sovereigns, for Narnia.

"Come, Little Prince. What will you choose? Your brother or your Lion? You're a traitor and a liar already. Shall we add coward to the list?"

_Coward. Murderer. Betrayer. _

_Liar. Sorcerer. Traitor. _

_Disowned. Outcast. Forever banished._

He closed his eyes, forcing his mind back to that night he'd spent at Anvard and to the Lion's words.

_Called. Chosen. Not rejected. _

_Beloved._

But Peter–

"Make your choice," the Hag croaked, backing to the edge of the mountainside, holding the bag of fruit again over the empty air. "I will not wait forever."

Aslan or Peter. Peter or Aslan. An impossible choice, and she knew it. And yet Edmund knew there was no choice to be made. He was Aslan's. Ruling and exiled, sleeping and waking, living and dying, he was not his own. The Lion had bought him that night on the Stone Table, bought him with blood that was, even a single drop, worth more than all the worlds. Edmund could not trade away what did not belong to him. But Peter–

He couldn't let Peter die. Not Peter._ Oh, Aslan, where are You? What am I supposed to do?_ But he knew already. He knew. It was just more than he could bear. After all that had happened already–

_If you suffer for doing what is right, I will see. I will remember. And I will reward you._

He knew what he must do. He had to trust that those words were true. He had to trust himself to the Lion. More than that, so much more, he had to trust Peter to Him.

But Peter–

"Choose," the Hag insisted, dangling the fruit farther out over the dizzying nothingness below them. "Choose, or I choose for you."

"Give me the fruit," he said, forcing his voice not to tremble. "Let me take it down to my friends, and I will let you do whatever you like to me. You want my blood? I'll give it to you. Just let me save Peter."

The Hag only scoffed. "Do you think I cannot see, fool? If I kill you, you simply go to the Lion, and there is no more sorrow for you. It is not good enough. Live, traitor, and grieve that you have yet again failed. Your Lion or your High King, you must betray one of them. Choose."

She was standing there on the edge, nothing but emptiness behind her. It would be easy, so easy, to spring forward and shove her into that emptiness and let her be broken on the rocks below. She held out the fruit more behind her than beside her, and he knew that, if he made a sudden move, even if he pushed her into the chasm, that fruit would go first. Peter would die.

Aslan or Peter. Peter or Aslan. An impossible choice and she knew it.

"Choose!" she shrieked.

_Not Peter. Please, not Peter. Aslan, please– _

He couldn't let Peter die. If it cost his pride, his life or his soul, he couldn't let Peter die.

Edmund steeled himself, and then he dropped to his knees.

"What–" The wind was cold against his suddenly wet face, and he ducked his head against it. "What do you want me to say?"

She laughed, a more grating sound than her shriek had been. "Just a few words, Little Prince. 'I renounce the great Lion Aslan. I curse His name, His works and His person and count myself none of His, neither His nor His Father's, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, for now and for all eternity.' Speak those words or your precious High King dies."

No, he couldn't say those words. He couldn't. Aslan loved him. Aslan died for him.

But Peter–

"Say it!"

"I–"

Edmund's head sank lower, and he had to brace his trembling hands on his thighs. _Oh, Aslan. Aslan. Forgive me. Please, it's Peter. It's Peter!_ His shoulders drooped.

"I–"

"Eh?" The hag swung the bag over the chasm, the rags of her sleeve fluttering against her bony arm. "What's that, traitor?"

"I–" He lifted his head, drawing a shuddering breath as he looked into her leering, evil face, trembling with grief at what his words would mean. "I belong to Aslan. I cannot deny Him."

"So be it then," she crowed, eyes alight. "So be it."

And she opened her hand and let the bag fall.

Edmund dove forward, ploughing through the snow, scraping chest and belly against the graveled ground beneath, but his desperate hands caught only empty air.

The fruit was gone.

_No. No. No. Aslan, no._

"You made your choice, traitor," the Hag crowed. "And by it the High King is condemned."

Edmund could only lay there panting. Numb. Peter–

With a screeching cry, an Eagle broke through the clouds, the string bag in its claws still laden with fruit, and Edmund heard the whisper of a familiar golden voice.

"Courage, Beloved."

"You!" the Hag howled, batting frantically at the Bird.

It dove at her, still screeching, batting its wings around her until, lunging at it, she toppled over the side and fell shrieking into the chasm.

The Eagle swooped over Edmund's head, dropped the bag of fruit into the snow at his side and, with another cry, shot into the sun and disappeared.

Edmund turned onto his back, panting, waiting for his breathing to slow.

_I will see. I will remember. And I will reward you._

He pushed himself to his knees and took the bag into his arms, cradling it against his stinging chest.

"Thank you," he gasped. "Thank you. Thank you."

Finally he struggled to his feet, still clutching the fruit, carrying it to where he had dropped the pouches he had brought with him. He opened the empty one, meaning to put the fruit inside, but then he thought better of it. Instead, he opened the full pouch, removed half of the flowers it held and put them into the empty pouch. Using the flowers for padding, he carefully packed the fruit and slung the pouches over his shoulder. Then he tossed the filthy string bag over the side of the mountain. For a moment, he stared down into the fathomless emptiness of the chasm, looking for the Hag, not finding her. Then he glanced up at the sun, squinting towards where he had last seen the Eagle, and with fervent thanks, he started the climb down.

He found Phillip and Stormseer waiting still where the trail ended.

"Hail, King," said the Centaur with his usual solemnity.

"Hail, good Stormseer." Edmund bowed and then turned smiling to his Horse. "Phillip, I–"

Phillip backed away a step or two, making a nervous, snuffling sound.

Edmund also drew back. "What's wrong?"

The Horse shook his head and then stretched his neck cautiously forward. "I can see you, My King, but I cannot smell you."

"You can't?"

Edmund glanced at the Centaur whose expression was gravely pleased.

"Come, Sire. Let us return to my pavilion. There is more you must know."

As they made their way back, Edmund told them what had happened atop the mountain with the Hag and the Eagle and the Canicule Tree.

The Centaur only nodded wisely. "The Lion does not forget His own."

He said little more until they were again inside his pavilion. It was only then that Edmund realized how very tired he was.

"My servants will tend to that for you, Lord King," the Centaur said, observing the torn and bloodied places on his shirt.

"No, it is nothing. Please, what am I to do now?"

Phillip made a displeased snuffling sound, but was silent as Stormseer directed Edmund to a seat at his table. Again his Faun attendants brought food and drink, but Edmund paid them no heed.

The Centaur made a slight bow. "Very well, Lord King. First you must remove the juice from the fruit."

"Shouldn't I just take the fruit back home?" Edmund asked as he unpacked the pouches.

"That will do neither you nor the High King good, Sire," Stormseer said. "This fruit does not last long after it is picked. It would rot before you could return to Cair Paravel, but the juice will keep in your flask. And once you have removed the juice, you must eat what is left of the fruit. There is healing in it, and it will strengthen you for what is to come."

Edmund nodded. "All right, if I can't take it back to Peter. And the flowers?"

"They are called velius. Take them, petals, leaves and stems, and grind them up fine. When you return to Narnia, put a little of the powder on you, especially boots and hands and around your mouth and nose. Every day you have need of it, you must replenish it, so use it wisely."

Edmund knit his brow. "But I don't understand. What does it– Oh. Of course." He smiled suddenly. "Of course."

He began grinding the small yellow flowers with the brass pestle King Lune had sent along with him, sending silent thanks to Aslan as he did. The Lion had provided all he would need. He was ready to go home.

OOOOO

Susan's smile was faint and weary as she watched her sister sleep. Since her return, Lucy had scarcely left Peter's side. Even when she was awake, she stayed next to him, prattling blithely about her precious lost ship and what they would do when Edmund came home. Peter never responded of course, but Lucy didn't seem to mind.

Susan had tried to reason with her, had tried to tell her she'd be more comfortable in her own quarters and that Peter needed to rest undisturbed. Susan tried to tell her the ship was gone, that Peter couldn't hear her and that Edmund was never coming home, but Lucy invariably gave her that untroubled little smile and carried on with what she had been doing.

Now she slept, and Susan could only stand at the bedside watching her, watching Peter beside her and the remains of Edmund's sword on the other side of him. Her eyes filled with tears. Lucy, Peter and Edmund, all of them–

She started when she felt a hand on her shoulder, but then she smiled and swiftly wiped her eyes.

"Gil."

"How are you, Lady?"

She smiled tightly. "I am strong, Gil. I will do what needs to be done."

"You are a Queen, Lady. Of course you are strong." He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Strong enough to do what is best for your kingdom, especially since it rests fully upon you now."

"I need your help, Gil." She squeezed his hand and then released it. "Peter trusted you, and so do I."

Oreius had full charge of the army now. All of the other Lords and counselors had their own areas of responsibility. Susan needed someone she could lean on herself, and there was only Gil. She didn't tell him she had nowhere else to turn. No man wanted to hear he was a woman's last resort.

"Lady." He took both of her hands this time. "Do you mean to say–"

"I will marry you, Gil." She held her head high, and her eyes were dry. "Narnia is all I have left now, and I need your help to keep her safe."

"Dear Lady."

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she turned her face to one side and his lips landed firmly on her cheek.

"You understand," she said, her expression somber, and he smiled, delicately kissing her hand again.

"Of course, My Queen. You make me the happiest of men. I ask only to serve you and beloved Narnia."

"Susan?"

Susan turned to see her sister sitting up in bed, her blue eyes wide and wondering.

"Lucy. Gil and I–"

"You're getting married?"

Susan braced herself, trying to gauge her reaction. Lucy would never–

"That's nice." Lucy stretched and picked up Peter's limp hand, weaving her fingers into his. "I can't wait to see your dress." She smoothed their brother's sweat-damp hair, smiling sweetly at him. "And you'll look marvelous escorting her down the aisle, Peter. Oh, and I know! Edmund can perform the ceremony. He's gotten very good at that since we've been here. He says the nicest things. Remember when he married those Badgers last year?"

Susan clutched Gil's hand again and kept the slight smile frozen on her face as she listened to Lucy's chatter. Yes, she was strong. She was a Queen.

OOOOO

It was Corin who spotted them first and ran to meet them before they reached the castle gates. Anvard stood open and welcoming, and Edmund was glad to see it. It marked the last stop before he could head home. Before he could take the life-giving juice of the Canicule back to Cair Paravel and to Peter. Before he could cut down the deadly Yew.

"King Edmund! King Edmund!"

"Corin!" Grinning, Edmund grabbed the boy by the upper arm and swung him up behind him on Phillip's back. "Good to see you. What from Narnia? Any word of Peter?"

"No, Sir, but plenty of news from the border."

"Oh, yes?"

The blond head bobbed. "They've closed the pass into Narnia. There's a whole troop there inspecting anyone who comes through. By order of Sir Gilfrey Becke in the name of the High King."

Edmund clenched his jaw and remembered the last words his Centaur guard had spoken when he was banished. _Death will be waiting to greet you the moment you are bold enough to again set foot across our border. This by order of Peter, High King of Narnia._ By order of Peter, courtesy of Gilfrey's poison, of course.

Even now this cursed Knight was well prepared and well organized. He was determined to keep Edmund out of Narnia. Determined to keep him from saving his brother. There was no doubt he would see that death sentence immediately carried out if he was given the opportunity.

Edmund had known he would have to use stealth to get into the castle, to get to Peter, but now he could not even get through the pass. He was too well known to try to slip by unnoticed or in disguise, not with a troop of soldiers under specific orders to watch for him. And getting into Narnia by going back west and then north would be far more dangerous than going through the pass as well as costing him precious time. Time Peter did not have.

Edmund's grip on the reins tightened. No. No, it couldn't be. He couldn't have risked everything to bring back Peter's cure and then be kept from giving it to him. Oh, Aslan–

"Father says you're to come inside and have some supper," Corin said, subdued for once. "And he wants to talk to you."

Edmund nodded mutely, and Phillip, dropping his head, carried them into the castle courtyard.

OOOOO

"Lucy." Susan stood with her hands on her hips. "What happened now?"

"No, I'm certain it was my fault, My Queen." Gil knelt and picked up the flask of wine and the goblet that had rolled under Peter's bed. "I must have put it too near the edge of the table."

Susan softened her expression and cupped her sister's cheek in her hand. "I think Lucy's been a little bit unsteady since she came back. It seems to be getting a bit worse. Do you feel all right, Lucy dear?"

"I feel fine," Lucy said with her usual vague smile, and then she giggled. "I do seem to be a bit clumsy sometimes."

Susan sighed, lips pressed tightly together. She had thought it was best to let Lucy stay with Peter for the time being. It seemed harmless enough, and it evidently kept both of them content. But this wasn't the first time Lucy had spilled something, her own hot chocolate or Peter's water or the white willow bark tea that was meant to ease his fever. And usually it ended up in the bed. Gil was right. Peter would do better without Lucy constantly disturbing him.

"You'd better sleep in your room tonight, Lu."

"No." Lucy's mouth turned down in a childish pout. "I'll be more careful. I will."

"You've said that before," Susan said. "You need your rest and so does Peter."

"But Peter–"

"I'll look after him. Now come on."

She took Lucy's right arm, and Gil took her left.

"May I escort you, Queen Lucy?" he offered, his expression firm.

There was a flash of something in Lucy's eyes, but then it was gone, replaced by her usual placid look. "But I want to–"

"I'll look after Peter and get someone to stay with you," Susan assured her, hustling her out of the bed and onto her feet. "You won't be by yourself."

"But–"

"Come on now. I have to clean up here and change out the bed. It'll be all right. You'll see. You can come back in the morning after we've all had a good night's sleep."

Between the two of them, Susan and Gil got Lucy into her room. Susan got Lucy's Naiad lady-in-waiting to sit with her and then posted a Leopard outside the door, giving him strict orders to make sure Queen Lucy did not leave her room till morning.

OOOOO

Barefoot and wearing just her nightgown, Lucy paced across the thick rug laid beside her bed. For the second night in a row now, she couldn't leave her room, but she had managed to persuade her lady-in-waiting to go to bed. At least tonight she would be alone, but she needed to be with Peter. She needed to be watching over him as she had been told to do. Sir Gilfrey, the Snake, was onto her now. She knew he was. He dared not say anything in front of Susan. He wasn't strong enough on his own, not quite yet, not until his marriage to the Gentle Queen gave him official standing in Narnia, but he was aware now that Lucy wasn't as simpleminded as she had been letting everyone believe.

That pretense, she was certain, had saved Peter's life. It had at least saved him from more of whatever poison Gil had been feeding him all this while. But the Snake was onto her now.

She almost laughed aloud to remember the astonished look on his face when he had first found her there next to Peter. How he had gotten into the room in the middle of the night without alerting the Tigers on guard, she didn't know. He had merely appeared there beside the bed, eyes narrowed, holding a goblet of something that looked like water.

"Oh, hello," she had said, her voice soft so as not to wake Susan as she slept in a nearby chair, but still bright and innocent and unwary. "Did you bring my brother a drink?"

He had considered for a moment and then smiled gently. "Yes, dear lady. I thought a taste of something cool might ease His Majesty's fever."

"That's a good idea." She had reached her hands eagerly towards the goblet. "I want to give it to him. I want to help."

Something almost imperceptibly smug had come into the Snake's eyes just then, and he handed her the drink. "Of course, my dear. Who better to tend to our High King than his own beloved sister?"

She had wanted to fly at him then, to scratch out his evil eyes and drown him in his own poison. Instead she had slipped one hand under Peter's head and tilted it up a little. Then, with a vacant smile, she had put the goblet to his lips and poured the water down the side of his face.

Peter hadn't stirred, but like the Snake he was, Gilfrey had hissed and snatched the empty goblet away from her.

"I'm sorry," she had told him with a pout. "Now Peter won't have his drink. Shall we wake Susan and tell her it was spilt?"

He had collected himself then, and gave her a slight bow. "No, Your Majesty, no need to disturb your gentle sister. It is of no consequence. Perhaps you ought to go back to sleep as well."

"All right. Goodnight."

She had curled up next to her brother and closed her eyes. When she had peeked out through her lashes a moment later, the Snake was gone. Lucy had lain there the rest of the night, holding Peter close as he lay helpless and unaware of the machinations of his dear friend and trusted Knight. That was only the first time she had kept the Knight from giving her or Peter something detrimental. And she couldn't help wondering, too, why Susan had become such a heavy sleeper these past few weeks.

What a swine this Sir Gilfrey Becke was.

Lucy had no doubt he had arranged her "accident" at sea. He would find some other way to dispose of her now, she was sure, and then Peter would be at his mercy. Once Susan married the Snake, he would have no need to keep the High King alive.

And if Lucy told Susan any of what she now knew, Susan would ask for concrete proof. Barring that proof, proof Lucy did not yet have, Susan would tell her not to be silly, that Gil was their friend and helper, that he wanted only what was best for Narnia and for the Sovereigns. Worst of all, she would show Lucy that horrible paper the Snake had made their brother sign and tell her that Peter trusted him to take care of them all.

Gil had convinced her that Peter's illness was due to overwork and exposure to the cold and even the injuries he had sustained in Ettinsmoor. He had convinced Susan that she could do nothing without his cloying support, subtly playing on her fears until she was helpless and weak.

"Susan," Lucy muttered between clenched teeth. "Why would you turn to him and not Aslan? Can you be so blind?"

She looked up at the stars through the glass of her windows. She couldn't protect Peter anymore. Even in her own bedchamber, she couldn't protect herself. Aslan was all they had left.

She closed her eyes. "Dear Aslan, please watch over Peter. Please look after all of us. And please, please, send Edmund home soon. Please send him ho–"

A heavy hand cut off her words and her breath.

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have once again proved they are worth their weight in bite-sized Milky Way Dark (the most precious commodity in the world) for all their help. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude.**

–**WD**

**P.S. Thanks to all of you who have reviewed and alerted this story. I greatly appreciate every reader, and I answer all the reviews that allow responses. Since I can't PM them, I'd like to add my special thanks to foundandfreed and foreverchanged for their kind and extremely detailed comments.**


	16. Artifice

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

ARTIFICE

Lucy's feet were bare, but she stomped as hard as she could on her assailant's booted instep.

"Oww," he hissed. "Have pity, Lu."

She gasped and almost choked herself trying to keep from screaming as she spun to face him.

"Edmund!" She dared do no more than whisper, but she felt as if she were shouting. She needed to shout out all the joy and relief she felt. "Edmund!"

"Lucy."

Even in the dim glow of the candles, she could see the glimmer of tears in his dark eyes as he searched her face. She dragged him away from the window and drew the curtain. Then she pushed him into a chair and hurried over to make sure her door was bolted.

That done, she turned again, still the width of the room away from him, still with her back to the door. She put both hands to her mouth, hardly daring to blink away the blinding tears for fear he might vanish with them. Then she shot back and flung herself into his lap, covering his face with kisses, not knowing if the warm saltiness she tasted was from his tears or hers.

Finally she nestled against him, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, his breath shuddering warm against her skin.

"Lucy, Lucy. Oh, Lu."

He merely held her there, just held her. Then, laughing softly, he pulled back and smiled wetly into her eyes.

"Sorry you're not happy to see me."

She scrunched her nose at him, but the playful scowl was instantly swallowed up in another tearful, radiant smile as she stroked the tangle of black hair from his forehead.

"What are you doing here? You can't be here. If they catch you–"

"Who knows the Cair better than I do, Lu? Especially the sneaky bits." He smirked, the same snarky, know-it-all smirk she had ached for all this while. "There are a few secret passages I bet even you don't know about."

"But the guards, especially the Dogs–"

"As long as I stay out of sight, they'll never know I'm here. I have this powder that covers scent. I think it spooked Phillip a little when he saw me but couldn't smell me."

"What–"

"It comes from some flowers that grow in the mountains out west, but I'll explain about that later."

"But how did you get here? The pass to Anvard is guarded. I heard the orders being given. They're watching for you."

"I didn't come through the pass. I stowed away in one of good King Lune's merchant vessels and then, when we were close enough, rowed ashore into that little cove on the other side of our beach. After that, it was nothing to get in here, thanks to a little sprinkle of pixie dust."

His grin brought out her own. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

He took her hands in his, a sudden earnestness in his expression. "Lucy, all those things they said about me, all the evidence, it wasn't–"

She put two fingers over his lips. "Of course it wasn't true. I never once believed it."

He caught her hand and pressed a tender kiss into it. "Dear Lu."

She held him close again. "Oh, Edmund, we need you so much here. Peter–"

Her throat tightened painfully around the name, and he grabbed her by both arms.

"What about Peter?"

She couldn't hold back a sob. "Peter's dying."

He practically dumped her off his lap as he stood, though he kept his tight hold on her arms. "Go check on him."

"But I–"

"Go check on Peter, Lu. I need to know if there's anyone with him right now."

"I can't. That Snake Gilfrey makes sure I have to stay in here every night now."

"But Susan–"

Lucy shook her head. "Gilfrey has her so afraid and mixed up, she'll do almost anything he tells her. Edmund, she's agreed to marry him."

"Marry?" Edmund gaped at her. "_Marry_ him?"

"It's bad, Ed. Everything's so bad."

"That'll have to wait for now. I have to get to Peter. Do you know if he's alone?"

Lucy shook her head. "Susan stays with him most of the time, but I think Gilfrey must be giving her something to make her sleep. He came in there in the middle of the night once, and she never even stirred. He didn't know I was there, too, and he had some kind of drink for Peter. I made sure it got spilt, but that Snake is poisoning him. He's–"

"I know." There was a cold fury in Edmund's dark eyes. "I have something that will help Peter, but nobody can know I'm here. Not yet." He glanced towards the door. "Do you think you could get Susan out of there?"

"I suppose, but she'd just send someone else in to watch over Peter. Someone who wouldn't be soundly asleep. You–"

"All right, listen." Edmund's expression was intense. "Keep watch from your door. Go and pester the guards if you must, anything so you can watch the corridor. If you see anyone going towards Peter's room, make a fuss. Insist on going to see him or whatever you think best, just make an awful row."

"I can do that." She gave him a little grin and scurried to unbolt the door. "But how are you–"

When she looked back, he was gone.

OOOOO

Edmund stepped from the narrow passageway and into the space behind the crimson velvet curtain that covered the windows in the chamber of the High King. How often had he and Peter used this little passage to play pranks on one another? But they had also pledged secrecy over it, knowing it might prove useful in case of treachery. Had Peter trusted this Sir Gilfrey enough to tell him about it?

Edmund listened for a moment, making certain there was no one present but his brother and sister. Then, silent as shadows, he stepped into the dimly lit room.

As Lucy had predicted, Susan was asleep in the chair, her fair skin almost glowing in the pale candlelight that fell upon her. He stole up to her, leaning close to whisper in her ear.

"Susan."

She didn't stir, so he carefully put his hand on her shoulder.

"Susan," he whispered again, but there was no response. She was only still, her breathing slow and even.

His blood boiled at the thought of this deadly Yew, this Snake, as Lucy called him, daring to drug his sister, but it did make his own task simpler now. It was best, at least for the time being, that she not know he was here. If she truly believed him a traitor and all the rest, she might reveal his presence before he was ready. And then Peter–

"Edmund?"

Edmund froze where he stood and then turned. Peter was sitting up in bed, his blue eyes wide and staring, his voice unbearably weak and broken. His nightshirt hung on his wasted frame, wet with sweat, and his hair, always the thick, tawny mane of a young lion, fell dull and limp around his face. A face that was so changed.

There had always been a pure beauty in his face, the beauty of eager youth and vivid life and, even in that Other Place, of golden majesty. It was a beauty not only of unflawed features but of nobility and honor and strength. Now the life was almost drained away, the strength driven out, but there was still a fevered beauty to it, the pale, fragile beauty of a first frost that knows it cannot survive the touch of the sun. Lucy had said it already. Peter was dying.

"Edmund?" he murmured again, but his eyes were fixed on the black nothingness at the other side of the room. He was dreaming. Hallucinating. Delirious.

Lost. Afraid. Dying.

"Oh, Peter."

Scarcely breathing the words, Edmund went to him, seizing the trembling hand that reached for something only Peter could see.

"Peter," he murmured, kissing that fevered hand and then pressing it to his cheek as he knelt beside the bed.

"Edmund," Peter murmured a third time, and this time it wasn't a fearful question. This time there was a hint of a smile on the ghost-white lips.

Edmund gathered him into his arms. "I'm here."

Peter sagged, trembling, against him, drawing whimpering soft breaths and then finally growing still, so still that Edmund feared he was forever lost.

"No. Peter, no."

He laid his brother back on the bed, feeling for the pulse that beat in his throat. It was there yet, but he'd wasted too much time already. He took the small flask from the pouch at his belt and uncorked it. With one hand, he lifted Peter's head, and with the other, he poured out a few precious drops of summer-smelling liquid.

Peter coughed weakly but managed to take it down. Then he drew a deep breath and exhaled, and some of the pain in his expression seemed to lessen.

"Aslan," Edmund breathed in thanks as he corked the flask and returned it to his pouch.

Afterwards, he glanced towards the door. Lucy would be watching. He knew she would be. Surely there would be no harm in staying just a moment more. He touched the back of his hand to Peter's cheek and then sat him up enough so he could sit down behind him, his back to the head of the bed. Then he settled Peter against him and wrapped him in his arms.

As he did, he noticed the heavy bundle at Peter's side. He put one hand on it, but he didn't have to unwrap it to know it was the broken remains of his sword, to know why it was there and why Peter hadn't let go of it. Guilt. Grief. Regret. What torture that Snake had put his brother through, all for his own greed and ambition. Again Edmund felt his blood heat to boiling. The oily, conniving, murderous–

Peter drew another deep breath, his face slack, his dark-gold lashes fluttering slightly against his pale cheeks. "Edmund?"

"I'm here," Edmund assured him. "Sleep now."

"Come home." Peter turned a little to his side, curling against him. "Come home."

Edmund had to strain to understand the slurred words, to even hear them.

"Don't care what they say you did. Come home, Eddie. Come home."

Edmund bent down to kiss the golden hair, tears welling into his eyes and then spilling down his cheeks. "I'm here. I'm here, brother mine, I'm here."

Peter's thin fingers clutched at Edmund's tunic, and his breath came more swiftly. "I'm not– I'm not like her. I'm not."

"Like who?"

"Never– never wanted to hurt you." Fine droplets of sweat formed on Peter's upper lip. "Edmund, I'm not like her. Never wanted to kill you."

"Shh, I'm all right. I'm right here. I'm right here."

"Tried to tell her. She didn't understand. Tried to tell her what she said. Wasn't you who put the spell on her. Wasn't you. She told me she did it. Heard her talking. She didn't believe me."

"Who, Peter? Who are you talking about?" Was this "she" one person or two? Or three or four? "Peter, who are you talking about?"

"Please, Eddie, come home." Peter's voice was growing weaker, exhausted. "I won't hurt you anymore. Promise."

Edmund wasn't sure how much of what he had just heard was meaningful and how much was merely the fever talking. He considered giving Peter more of the juice of the Canicule, but Stormseer had warned him of the danger of administering more than a few drops at one time to someone in Peter's weakened state.

"Shh," he soothed instead. "It's all right. I'm here, Peter. I'm not leaving you. Aslan sent me home."

"Aslan?"

"He was with me all the time."

"Aslan." Peter murmured the name, his breathing slowing as he finally relaxed, and he clung to Edmund's wrist, scarred like his own. "Bonds could not hold Him, r'member?"

Edmund whispered the response to the sacred litany. "For He is freedom."

"Fear . . . not hold Him."

Edmund nodded, heart torn at the growing frailty in his brother's voice. "For He is peace."

"Sorrow . . . not hold . . ."

Again Edmund nodded, barely able to choke out the reply. "For He is joy."

"And death . . . "

The words slurred into nothingness, and Edmund clutched him fiercely closer.

"For He is life, Peter. He is life. Oh, Aslan."

With a sob, he buried his face in the golden hair, darkening it with tears, but Peter only held on still.

"Kings . . . belong . . . to Him."

A weary touch of a smile tugged at one side of Peter's mouth, and Edmund drew a steadying breath.

"We belong to Him."

For a long moment, Peter was silent. Edmund would have thought he was asleep but for the still-tight grip on his wrist.

"Edmund?" Peter said finally.

"Yes?"

"Be real." Peter clung desperately to him. "Please be real."

Edmund brushed his lips against his hair. "I am, Peter. And I'm right here."

Peter squeezed his wrist and then sank into a peaceful sleep.

Edmund stayed where he was for a few minutes more, making certain that Peter's fever had eased at least a little. The corridor was quiet and he was sure Lucy was still keeping watch, but he'd already been here too long. If he were caught now, it would spell disaster for him, for Peter, for Susan and Lucy and all of Narnia.

"Peter," he whispered, but there was no response.

As gently as he was able, he slid out from behind Peter and laid him down in the bed, tucking the blankets around him. Then he went to where Susan still slept and pressed a careful kiss to the side of her head. She looked tired and harried. Obviously, she, too, had grieved all this while. Gilfrey would answer for that.

"For everything," Edmund muttered into the darkness.

He went behind the curtain and felt for the lever that opened the passageway. Then he froze. There was an unmistakable click, and it opened from the other side.

He sank back into the cover of the curtain, holding his breath as the deadly Yew, the Snake himself, glided past him and into Peter's chamber, goblet in hand.

"And how fares His High Majesty this lovely night?"

His dark eyes gleamed with malevolent humor as he leaned over the bed and tilted Peter's head forward, tipping the goblet against his lips. Peter took it, unresisting, as he had no telling how many times before. Edmund gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to spring out on the villain and thrust his dagger into his black heart. Instead he put his hand on the healing flask he carried, forcing himself to wait for the right time.

"Not too much, mind you, My King, not yet." Gilfrey set the goblet aside. "It wouldn't do to have you leave us too soon. Just enough to keep you out of mischief." He gave Peter's cheek a couple of rough pats, making his head loll to one side. "Excellent."

Fists clenched, Edmund watched as he went to where Susan still slept, circling her like a ravenous wolf.

"Soon, My Queen," he murmured, ghosting his fingers over her full lips and then stroking them down the white curve of her throat.

Edmund's hand went to the hilt of his dagger as the swine dared push Susan's gown partway down her arm and then leant over her, tracing his lips down her neck and along her slender shoulder.

"Soon," he whispered, nuzzling her ear. "Narnia and all its treasures will be mine."

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have once again gone above and beyond the call of duty to make this story work. Gold stars and extra sparklies will no doubt be in their heavenly crowns.**

–**WD**

**P. S. If anyone is curious, the litany Peter and Edmund repeat is shown in full in my story "At the Sound of His Roar."  
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	17. Betrayal

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

BETRAYAL

Edmund waited in the shadows behind the heavy curtains in the chamber of the High King, one hand clutching his dagger, the other clenched so tightly his nails cut into his palm. He watched Gilfrey, the deadly Yew, the Snake, turn Susan's head to one side so he could brush his foul lips over her lidded eyes and whisper his vile intentions into her insensible ears. Edmund burned to leap from his hiding place and tear the knave apart with his bare hands, but he knew this would doom everything, for both his family and his kingdom. He had to have proof against the villain, incontrovertible proof, or in the eyes of his subjects, he would himself be forever counted among the traitors.

Still Gilfrey's practiced fingers played over Susan's creamy skin, edging her gown further off her shoulder. For his sister's honor, Edmund knew he couldn't stand idle much longer.

"But no, Fair Queen," the Snake whispered, moving his hand again to her throat, squeezing until she struggled faintly in her sleep, "not yet. Not until you are mine and can appreciate full well any attentions I deign to pay you." His eyes narrowed, glittering with greed. "Not yet, but soon."

With a furtive glance at the door that led to the corridor, Gilfrey snatched up the goblet he had brought with him and disappeared into the secret passage. Edmund's fingers twitched on the hilt of his blade, but he did not move until he was sure the false Knight was gone.

"Yes, soon, Snake," he spat, glaring towards the now-invisible opening to the passage. "For all you've done to my family and to our people, soon."

He went to his sister, examining her slender throat for bruising, but she only seemed peacefully asleep and unharmed. He brushed his lips consolingly against her forehead and then went to his brother.

Peter grimaced and tossed in his sleep, again fighting who knew what horrors. That swine Gilfrey had undone any good the juice of the Canicule had brought him.

"Shh," Edmund murmured.

He put a calming hand on his brother's forehead and then swiftly drew it back. Peter was burning up. Perhaps Gilfrey didn't mean to kill him quite yet, but he was doing it all the same. Edmund reached for the silver flask he carried and then hesitated, remembering again how Stormseer had warned him to be cautious with the juice. It had the power to heal, but it was potent and unrelenting, and Peter was so terribly weak.

But his fever was climbing by the second, and even his delirious struggles were growing fainter. There was nothing to do but give him more of the juice. He wouldn't last much longer as he was.

Edmund uncorked the silver flask once more and poured a few drops from it into his brother's mouth. For a moment, Peter did not move, his ragged breathing the only break in the night's stillness. Then, with a gasp, he arched his back, his body convulsing, his hands tearing at the neck of his nightshirt as if the loose garment was choking him.

"Peter. Peter."

Edmund grabbed his brother's arms, wrapping them and his own around Peter's writhing body, desperate to hold on as life and death warred inside him. Peter's gasps grew louder, more frantic as his fever spiked higher, as he thrashed and fought for air.

"Breathe, Peter. Breathe," Edmund begged, holding tighter. "Aslan, please."

Without warning, the convulsions stopped. Peter was still.

Too still.

"Peter?"

His eyes brimming with tears, Edmund pulled back, searching his death-pale face.

"Peter."

Edmund clutched him close, again holding his head against his shoulder, straining to hear the slightest flutter of breath.

There was nothing.

"Oh, Aslan, what have I done?"

Edmund held him even tighter, grief and fury raging inside him.

"Don't, Peter," he sobbed. "Don't you dare."

He sat Peter back, shaking him, still holding him by the arms as his head fell limply backwards.

"Don't you dare die, Peter Pevensie. Do you hear me?"

Again, Edmund shook him and then froze. Was that a breath? Oh, Aslan–

"Peter?"

Edmund shook him once more and then gave his cheek a smart slap.

"Peter!"

Sucking in breath, Peter sank against Edmund's shoulder again, and Edmund held him there, soaking his hair, his neck, his nightshirt with tears, drenched himself with Peter's sudden sweat, murmuring thanks and thanks and yet more thanks to the great Lion who had heard his desperate pleas.

Peter's breath still came in harsh gasps, but he was breathing, bless Aslan, and those gasps were swiftly calming. Edmund stroked the damp hair from his temple, pressing his lips there.

"Breathe. Breathe. Just breathe."

Whether he spoke to his brother or to himself, he wasn't entirely sure. It didn't matter. He merely crushed Peter closer, still shaking, holding on until their breathing quieted into the same even rhythm. Finally, he laid Peter back against the pillows, blotting his face with a cloth from the table near the bed, smiling slightly to find his temperature had cooled a little.

As stealthily as he was able, he cracked open a window and scooped some clean snow from the ledge into an empty cup. Then he set it by the fire. When the snow melted, he managed to get a little of the pure water down Peter's throat. He used the rest to cool his still-feverish face and neck. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead and from his hair. Peter didn't wake, but he sighed deeply, and his pained expression smoothed into peace.

Edmund glanced out of the windows. The night was already graying into dawn. He hated to leave them unprotected, Peter and Susan both, but it would do them no good if he were to be caught now. He pressed a kiss to Peter's forehead and then to Susan's, breathing a prayer for the Lion's protection over them both. Then he disappeared into the secret passage.

He crept back into Lucy's room, stealing over to conceal himself behind her open door. She was standing in the doorway prattling on to the She-Wolf on guard, cooing over the Beast's tales of her daughter's new Cubs.

Edmund tugged furtively on the hem of her nightgown, and with a sudden yawn, she remarked on the lateness of the hour and excused herself. Once she had shut and bolted the door, she fell into his arms.

"I thought you'd never come back."

He kissed the top of her head. "You're a brick, Lu. Have you been out there nattering away all this time?"

"Told you I would." Her grin faded at the look on his face. "How's Peter?"

"Oh, Lu." He hugged her more tightly. "I almost lost him. I almost–"

"What?" She pulled him over to the bed and made him sit down beside her. "What happened?"

He shook his head, suddenly almost unbearably weary. "Aslan sent me out west to get the antidote to the poison Peter's been given. I brought it back with me."

Lucy nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"Peter– Peter was in a bad way when I first got in there. I thought I was too late already. But I gave him some of the juice and he seemed a little better. He even spoke to me a bit."

Her eyes lit. "He did?"

"I got him to go back to sleep and was about to come back here, but I had to hide when that pig Gilfrey came through the passage and into the room. He gave Peter more of the poison he's been using on him, and then he–" No, he wouldn't tell Lucy about the Snake's brazenness with Susan. Not now. Maybe not ever. "Anyway, he disappeared again. All the good of the antidote was spoilt, and Peter was worse than ever."

She squeezed his arm. "What happened?"

He dropped his head into his hands. "He was so weak, Lu. I was afraid he wouldn't make it without more of the juice, but when I gave it to him, it almost tore him to pieces, the cure and the poison and the cure again so close together."

"Oh, Edmund."

She put her arms around him, and he rested his cheek on top of her head.

"He's all right now. When I left him, his fever was going down and he looked much better. We have to do something soon, Lu. Gilfrey is killing him."

"I know. I know. He tried to get rid of me, too."

"Lu!" Edmund pulled back from her. "What happened?" Abruptly he clasped her close again. "I'll kill the pig. I swear I'll kill him with my own hands."

She nestled close to him. "On top of everything else, I don't know if I can ever forgive him for what he did to _The Morning Dove_."

"_The Dove_? What about her?"

"I was supposed to go see to some disputes in the islands. I'm sure, once I get a chance to look into it, I'll find those disputes were made up of whole cloth. Gilfrey said afterwards that he had gotten word from the Lone Islands that the matters were settled and there was no need for Cair Paravel to send anyone."

"That was convenient," Edmund muttered darkly.

"But anyway, when I was on my way there in the first place, the crew, _his_ crew, locked me in my cabin and scuttled the ship."

"Oh, Lu."

She pressed closer. "I won't say I wasn't scared, but Aslan looked after me the whole time. I was rescued, and He told me to come back here and look after Peter, that he was being poisoned. The only thing I could think to do was pretend I wasn't right in the head anymore. That way I could stay close to Peter and Gilfrey would think I wasn't a threat. But he figured out what I was doing and made Susan send me back in here at night."

"You didn't tell her what happened?"

"No." Lucy looked at him helplessly. "I don't know how he managed it exactly, but somehow Gilfrey got Peter to sign a paper letting him do anything he wants in the name of the High King. Susan says she asked Peter about it herself, and he said that was what he wanted, so she wouldn't have to do everything herself while he was ill. Edmund, that Snake has Peter's seal, too. How could Peter ever let him have that?"

"You have to understand, Lu. The potion Gilfrey has been giving him all this time makes him suggestible and easily led. He doesn't really know what he's doing." Edmund's blood burned again at the thought of what Peter had been put through. "Gilfrey's wormed his way in until he's virtually king of Narnia. If Susan marries him, he will be King in actuality, and I guarantee you Peter won't live long afterwards. And neither will either of us."

"What are we going to do?" Lucy's blue eyes were wide. "As long as he has that paper and Peter's seal and Susan believes him–"

"We have to get some evidence of what he's been up to." Edmund stood up and paced over to the hearth. "He's covered his tracks till now, but there has to be something somewhere. Some little slip he's made. Someone who'll testify."

Lucy sighed and propped her chin on her hand. For several minutes, Edmund merely stood staring into the fire, not moving until he heard Lucy's soft gasp.

Edmund turned. "Cerise."

"King Edmund!" The Cherry Dryad gaped at him. "You mustn't! You mustn't be here! Sir Gilfrey–" Abruptly, she fell to her knees before Lucy, clutching her skirt with lithe hands. "Forgive me, My Queen, Your Majesties both. I did not know what I was doing. Not truly."

Edmund went to them. "How did you get in here?"

Cerise nodded towards the curtain over Lucy's windows. "Evidently just as you did, Lord King."

Lucy glanced at Edmund and then again at the Dryad healer. "What are you talking about, Cerise? Forgive you for what?"

"I meant only to help, My Queen. I am loyal to you. To Narnia." There was a sudden heightened color in her face. "To our High King."

"What have you done?" Edmund demanded.

Her lashes fell to her pink-tinted cheeks. "Forgive me, Lord King, but I was the one who gave Queen Lucy the potion that brought on her freezing sickness."

Lucy gasped. "You? But why? I thought you were my friend. You just said–"

"I am, Lady!" Tears filled the Dryad's eyes, and she glanced furtively at Edmund before she dropped her head, her leafy locks concealing her face from his view. "Lord King, I must especially ask your pardon. I– I was told you were a danger to the kingdom. So many things were said of you. Forgive me, I believed them. And I myself knew the High King would never send Your Majesty away except on very strong proof of a grievous wrong." She looked pleadingly at Lucy. "I swear it, My Queen, I would never have done anything to truly harm you. I made sure you only slept. Then I found that the Knight, Sir Gilfrey, was giving some potion to the High King. He swore it was only to make him pliable, to get him to send you away, Lord King, to protect him and all of Narnia from you, but I soon found the Knight was lying. That the whole thing had been a lie."

She turned pleading eyes up to Edmund again, but he only stood there, lips pressed into a hard line, waiting for her to go on. Cerise breathed a soft, rustling sigh.

"I told the Knight that he must stop, that the High King was in danger, but he said only that, if I spoke what I knew, he would see me condemned for the part I played in Queen Lucy's illness. I crept into the High King's chamber on another night when Gilfrey was away and tried to tell His Majesty what I'd done, to warn him, but I cannot say if he heard me or understood at all. Just now, I tried once more to tell the Knight he must stop, but he only laughed at me and said we were both in too deep for turning back. He told me he'd see me paid out if I ever spoke of what I know. Please, My Queen, you and King Edmund are my last hope." Her slender fingers caught Lucy's sleeve. "You mustn't–" She looked frantically at Edmund and then buried her face in Lucy's lap. "You mustn't let him die. You mustn't let the High King die because of me. I could never bear it. I could never–"

The Dryad's words were choked with sobs, and Lucy glanced up at Edmund. Somehow there was pity in her eyes, but Edmund didn't have time for pity.

"You have to tell this to Susan." He took the Dryad's arm and pulled her to her feet. "I swear we will pardon you your part in the plot, but you must speak of what you know. First to Queen Susan and then before the court and all the kingdom. It is the only way we can bring down this false Knight and save Peter's life."

"Yes, yes, anything, Lord King. Just, please, hurry. You must save King Peter. You can't let him– Aaaaaah!"

Eyes wide, Cerise clutched Edmund's arm and then his shoulder, shuddering again and again as if she were being struck, and then falling against him. He tried to support her, but she was suddenly heavy and stiff, and he could only ease her to the floor. He and Lucy stared at her lying there, her lovely face a mask of pain and regret, and then, a moment later, she disappeared.

Her Cherry Tree had been felled, and she would never be able to tell Susan or Narnia what she knew.

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have been so gracious and patient and helpful with critiquing and proofing. If you like this story, you should drop them a thank you. **

–**WD**


	18. Infamy

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

INFAMY

"She– she's gone."

Lucy stared at the floor, at the place where Cerise had fallen, and Edmund put his arm around her shoulders, shaken himself.

"Gilfrey must have known she was going to tell what she knew and had her tree cut down." He shook his head. "How could she have thought she was doing what was best for Narnia?"

Lucy looked at him, a sad little smile on her lips. "It wasn't for Narnia."

"What do you mean? Of course it was, at least she thought it was. She said–"

"For the High King, Ed. For Peter."

Edmund wrinkled his forehead. "You mean–"

"She loved him." Tears filled Lucy's eyes. "He probably never even noticed."

"Why in the world–"

"Oh, don't be such a boy, Edmund. You're supposed to be the discerning one. How could you not see it?"

"Obviously Gilfrey saw it and used it, just as he's been using Susan's fears." Edmund sank down on the bed, and Lucy sat with him. "What are we going to do now? She was our best chance at having someone testify against him."

Lucy shrugged. "Can't we just tell what happened? What she said?"

"And who will believe it? Susan? She thinks you're not right in the head, and she thinks I'm–"

He swallowed hard. Even knowing his older sister had been deceived and manipulated, it still hurt beyond imagining to think that she, not under the influence of any spell or potion, could believe him guilty of the heinous things he'd been charged with. He could still feel her slap across his mouth after she had read that abominable letter from the Tarkaan and the more brutal sting of her soft words, testifying against him at his trial.

"Susan will have to be shown definite proof before she'll believe us, Lu. Peter trusted the Snake, so she thinks she can trust him as well."

Lucy squeezed his hand and nestled comfortingly closer. "She didn't want to believe it of you, Edmund. It broke her heart to think any of it was true. She's been trying so hard to keep on, to not fall apart without you and without Peter, but it's killing her."

He patted her hand with his free one. "Aslan is with us, Lu. We'll get it all sorted somehow. Meanwhile–"

They both gasped at the pounding on the chamber door.

"Your Majesty? Queen Lucy? We must ask that you open the door at once."

Edmund leapt up and, with one finger over his lips, he urged Lucy towards the door. Then he disappeared behind her curtain as he had before.

"Come, My Lady." The gruff voice was growing impatient. "Open up."

From his hiding place, Edmund saw Lucy muss her hair and then, after a few deliberate seconds more, unbolt the door.

She yawned and blinked in the light of the torches. "It's still dark, Aran."

"I beg your pardon, My Queen." The Satyr was usually given charge over the soldiers who guarded the exterior of the Cair and was not often present in the royal quarters. "We have had word that the Traitor has been seen here in the castle. I am commanded to search everywhere. For your safety."

Edmund stepped back into the passage that had been his entrance into Lucy's chamber and held his breath. Sagepaw and some of the other Hounds were already in the room. He could hear them snuffling and pawing at the curtain. _Just a little sprinkle of pixie dust_, he had told Lucy. Would it be enough?

"Someone saw Edmund?" Lucy asked, eyes wide as she clutched the Satyr's arm. "Here?"

Aran shifted uneasily on his cloven hooves. "I– I'm not precisely sure of the details, My Queen. But we've been given orders to search. In the name of the High King."

Edmund clenched his jaw. Gilfrey again.

"But where was he seen?" Lucy asked. "Who saw him?"

She kept tugging at the Satyr's arm, badgering him with questions, her eyes wide and helpless. Dear Lu. Was there a better, stealthier ally to have in Narnia or all the worlds?

"There is no one here," came Sagepaw's mournful voice at last. "Where else shall we search?"

"Pardon the intrusion, My Queen," Aran said, bowing. "Please. Go back to sleep."

"Good night then." Lucy smiled sweetly. "Or should I say 'good morning'?"

She gave them all a little wave and then bolted the door once more. After a long, silent moment, Edmund came out of hiding.

"Gilfrey knows you're here," Lucy breathed. "He knows."

"Or he thinks he knows. No doubt he was in league with the Hag that testified against me, the same one who tried to keep me from getting the fruit. He's got eyes and ears all over Narnia. By now, he must know I have the cure and am trying to get it to Peter." Edmund peeked around the curtain and saw that the sun was just rising over the edge of the sea. "Get some snow, Lu, and let it melt. I'll put a few drops of juice in it and you can take it to Peter. Just be careful when you do. Give him a little at a time and stay with him until you see he's all right."

"What about you?" She reached up to caress his cheek. "You look exhausted."

"I can't fall asleep just yet. It's too risky, even in the passage. Gilfrey knows it's there, even if he can't tell anyone else. Cerise obviously knew about it."

She nodded. "Stay out of sight. Let me see to Peter for a little while, then I'll come back and keep watch while you sleep."

He leaned wearily into her hand. "You've been up all night, too."

"It'll be all right. We'll take turns."

"What a wonder you are, Lu." He hugged her tight. "Take care of Peter."

OOOOO

"There you are." Trying to ignore her usual morning headache, Susan stretched and stood up and gave her sister a peck on the cheek. "You're usually in here at first light. Everything all right?"

Lucy nodded, her expression as sweet and untroubled as always. "I brought Peter some fresh water. He likes it cold."

Susan sighed. "Be careful. You know you're bad about spilling."

"I won't spill a drop. I promise."

Susan watched as she emptied the cup, only bit by bit, into Peter's mouth. At first it made him gasp a little as Lucy held him against her. Susan was about to call for Cerise, but then he calmed and was still again.

"See?" Lucy stroked his forehead and then kissed his cheek. "I didn't spill any."

Susan smiled and leaned down to kiss their brother's pale cheek, too. Then she also put her hand on his forehead. "He does feel just a bit cooler, doesn't he?"

"This _is _good news."

Susan turned, smiling to see Sir Gilfrey come into the room. "Yes, isn't it wonderful?"

The Knight bowed low. "It is a good morning indeed, My Queens. And to what do we owe His Majesty's improvement, apart from the grace of Aslan?"

Lucy seemed to have a sudden fascination with the lacings on the sleeves of Peter's nightshirt and didn't look up, but Susan smiled at the Knight still. "I don't know. After all this time, he's just . . . better."

"And what do the healers say, Lady?"

"I probably should send for Cerise. She's usually here to check on the High King by now." Susan turned at the low sound her sister made. "Are you all right, Lucy?"

Lucy smiled vaguely. "Sometimes I get a catch in my throat."

"Do be careful, dear." Susan patted her hand and then turned to the Knight once more. "What was all that commotion in the corridor earlier, Gil?"

He looked grieved. "It was nothing, My Queen. Some of the soldiers thought they saw an intruder, but we found no one. Do not let it trouble you."

"Edmund." Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them escape. "It was, wasn't it? I heard some of the soldiers–"

"That was the fear." He took her hand, caressing it in both of his own. "No doubt, after his disgrace, he wishes to be avenged on the High King and all of you. But I will see he never gets through. If it costs my life, Lady, I swear it."

She squeezed his hand. "It's good of you to watch over us as you do. But, please, Gil, be gentle with him. If he comes back to Narnia, don't hurt him."

In spite of everything, the betrayals, the blasphemies, even the murders, Susan could never picture Edmund as anything but her little brother, the sweet-faced boy with mischievous dark eyes who had almost died on the battlefield at Beruna, the one she had scolded and mothered and worried over these ten years and before. It hurt too much to think of him as a man capable of such evil.

She squeezed the Knight's hand even more tightly. "Please don't hurt him."

"It is the decree of the High King, Lady. It was mercy that spared your younger brother the block or the rope from the start. When he left, it was made plain to him the consequences of returning to Narnia."

"I know." She sighed. "I know."

He kissed her hand. "Do not trouble yourself, My Queen. It is likely your brother will be wise enough to stay outside our territories, and there need be no unpleasantness."

Susan nodded, her smile warming infinitesimally. "Will you join us for breakfast, Gil?"

"Alas, no, Majesty. There are some matters I must see to this morning. There is a dispute with one of the Galman lords that must be settled. I hope, with His High Majesty still ill, it will not be necessary for me to be away."

"I hope not, Gil. But at least Galma isn't far."

"No, Lady. A visit of a day or two. No more."

"Christmas isn't far away. I wonder if you'll be here for that." Lucy's eyes were fixed on the lacing at Peter's wrist as she pulled it out and at once began lacing it back again, laying it just so, her voice dreamily placid as always. "Edmund will be home by then."

Susan was a little puzzled by the intensity in the smile the Knight gave Lucy.

"By Christmas, Little Queen?" He nodded. "I hope you and all those you love will be together by that time."

Susan stroked her sister's fair hair. It was only kindness in the Knight, giving Lucy that impossible hope, but Gil was always kind. And maybe, at least for now, kindness was better than reason. It really wasn't Lucy's fault she couldn't see things as they truly were.

OOOOO

Edmund nearly nodded off several times before Lucy returned. He ended up pacing the narrow length of the secret passage over and over again, breathing desperate pleas to Aslan to keep his family safe and deliver them from the Snake's coils. Just as he felt certain he would fall asleep on his feet, Lucy came back. Once she had told him what had happened, once he was sure that Peter was doing as well as could be expected, he ate greedily of the breakfast she had smuggled in to him. Then he slept.

It was late in the night when he crept back into Peter's room. Susan was again curled up in the chair at his bedside, drugged and insensible, but when Edmund came closer he saw that Peter's eyes were open. The juice of the Canicule was helping.

"Peter?"

Edmund went to him, kneeling beside the bed as he had before and clutching his hand. Peter stared at him, bewildered, and then reached up.

"So many dreams. So many nightmares." His hand trembled against Edmund's cheek, and there was fearful uncertainty in his eyes. "Thought you were real. You said you were. Then you were dead again." His voice shook and, breath quickening, he gripped Edmund's hand more tightly. "There was a Snake. Coiled around you. Crushing you to death. And I couldn't get to you, I couldn't–"

"It's all right, Peter. It was only a dream."

"Don't know what's real anymore, Eddie. Can't remember. Can't think. When I was in Ettinsmoor–"

"Shh, Peter, listen to me. Listen. Your nightmares, the headaches, all the problems remembering and concentrating, they're because of a potion you've been given. For months now. There's nothing wrong with you. It's all this poison."

"I'm not–" Peter's eyes filled with tears, and his lips trembled into a smile. "I'm not–"

"You're not losing your mind, Peter. You're all right. I promise, you're all right."

Peter nodded rapidly, trembling, too choked to speak.

"You're already getting better again. Take this."

Edmund uncorked the silver flask and gave his brother a few more drops of the liquid, watching him for any reaction. Peter only coughed and took a few quick breaths and then blinked sleepily.

"Listen to me," Edmund urged. "Listen."

Peter struggled to focus on what he was saying.

"It's Gilfrey, Peter. He's the one who's been poisoning you."

"Gil?" Peter shook his head, bewildered. "N-no. He's my friend. He's–"

"He's killing you, Pete."

Peter's eyelids were fluttering closed, and Edmund gave his shoulders a gentle shake.

"Listen to me, Peter. Peter!"

Peter stared at him, brows drawn together with effort. "She told me, and I tried to tell Su. I remember now. She said Gil–"

"Cerise?"

Peter nodded, and his eyelids drifted closed again.

"Peter, you have to listen to me."

Peter's expression was a little unfocused, but he managed to keep his eyes open.

"Gilfrey's been coming in every night to give you more of his poison. You can't let him know you know yet. You can't let him know I'm here. You can't let him know you're better. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you can't let Susan know either."

"Not Su? But–"

"No. You mustn't. All right?"

Peter nodded fuzzily and Edmund shook him again.

"Say it."

"Can't let Gil know. Can't let Su know."

"Good. Now, Peter, this is important. The next time he comes in, you have to pretend you're still drugged. You have to let him give you the potion the same as before, but you mustn't swallow it. Wait until he's gone again and then spit it out. Do you hear me? Say it."

"Take the potion, don't swallow it."

"Good."

Edmund patted his cheek, and then, as he had before, he went to the window and scooped up a cup of snow from the ledge outside and then set it at the hearth. Once it was melted, he gave Peter a drink and set the rest at his bedside. Peter was already drifting off to sleep again, so Edmund turned back towards the hidden passageway. He froze when he heard steps from inside, and as stealthily as he could, he slipped behind the curtain at the head of Peter's bed.

In the dimness, he was just able to see the Snake glide into the room, dagger drawn, wary. He flung back the curtain where Edmund had concealed himself the night before and scowled to find nothing. Then he came to the bedside.

"He's here, isn't he? Your precious Traitor-King? He's in the castle somewhere. Don't think we won't find him."

He seized Peter's jaw, jerking Peter's face towards him. Edmund held his breath, but Peter didn't react, not even when the villain wrenched open his mouth and poured more of his poison into it. When Gilfrey released him, Peter's head merely fell back onto the pillows.

"Double the dose should counter the cursed Canicule." There was a nasty, knowing pleasure in the Snake's smile. "Or tear you apart in the trying."

Not even sparing Susan a glance, he disappeared back into the passageway.

Edmund waited as long as he dared and then rushed to his brother's side, grabbing up an empty bowl from the supper tray on the table.

"Peter–"

Peter turned to his side and spit out the mouthful of poison he had been holding. Releasing the tight air from his lungs, Edmund snatched up the pure water he had brought earlier and gave Peter some.

"Rinse out your mouth with that."

Peter obeyed and then looked up at Edmund, lips trembling as he scrubbed them with his sleeve. As gently as he was able, Edmund settled him back against the pillows, kneeling again by the bed.

"You're all right, Peter. You did fine. Just fine."

Peter grasped his hand, still shaking and drawing shallow, ragged little breaths. Edmund stroked his hair, calming him.

"Sleep now. I'll come back."

He stood, trying to free his hand, but Peter's eyes widened and his grip was suddenly like iron. Edmund glanced towards the door that led into the corridor and then towards the curtain that covered the secret passage. Susan hadn't stirred all this while, but if Gilfrey returned . . .

He looked back at Peter, at the silent, desperate plea in his eyes, and knew he couldn't go. Not quite yet. He slid his arm under his brother's shoulders, sitting him up and then settling himself against the head of the bed as he had before. Again he leaned Peter back against him and wrapped him in his arms.

"Just until you're asleep," Edmund murmured against his hair, knowing it was dangerous to stay long.

Peter was clutching both of his hands now, but he finally relaxed, his head sinking to Edmund's shoulder. Soon his breathing slowed, and Edmund closed his eyes, too.

"Just until you're asleep."

OOOOO

Peter blinked in the morning light. How long had it been since he'd truly seen the sun? Since he'd seen anything but murky dimness or hopeless night? Since he'd seen–

This time it hadn't been a dream. It hadn't been a nightmare or a hallucination. He could still feel those arms around him, warm and strong and blessedly solid. He was still clutching those hands, hands that had always pulled him out of terror-haunted sleep. He clutched them harder, just to be sure.

"You're feeling better."

Peter turned his head, squinting until his eyes focused. Lucy was smiling down on him, her gentle arms around him, her tender hands holding his.

"Edmund." He stared at her, searching her face. "He was here."

Lucy cuddled him closer to herself, pressing her cheek to his hair. "Shh."

Again he squeezed her hands. "Was I dreaming?"

He had dreamed. For what seemed an eternity now, vivid, terrible, pitiless dreams, nightmares of Edmund and torture and death. But this had been different. Once Gil had gone away, this had been peace and comfort and mercy. This had been real. It had to have been real.

Again he searched Lucy's eyes. "Was he–"

She merely smiled indulgently, humoring the sick man no doubt. Perhaps it _had_ only been–

"He was," Peter insisted. "He was here."

He tried to push her away, but she only held him more tightly and made soothing shushing sounds.

"You mustn't say anything, Peter."

He tried again to struggle away from her, feeling the weak tears spring into his eyes, but even delicate little Lucy was too strong for him now.

"He was here. Where is he?"

"Shh, you mustn't say anything. No one can know he's here yet. Not even Susan."

"But Susan–"

"She's gone to see about breakfast. She'll be back any time now. Peter, she mustn't know about Edmund. She mustn't know you're awake. I know it will be hard, but can you pretend to be asleep as long as she's in here? As long as anyone's in here besides me?"

He nodded. "But Edmund–"

"He'll be in to see you when he can." She took his cup from the bedside table and held it to his lips. "This has more of the cure in it. Drink it down."

He did so willingly. A little frisson of heat and pain ran through him, but it quickly passed and his thoughts seemed to clear a little more

"But he's here? Truly?"

Eyes sparkling, she nodded.

"I didn't– I didn't kill him?"

"Oh, Peter, no." She kissed his forehead three or four times in succession. "No, of course not. He's fine. He's all right."

He shifted a little in the bed and felt something hard and heavy next to him. With a questioning glance at Lucy, he put his hand on the bundle and then realized what it was.

"Edmund's sword."

She pressed him closer. "You wouldn't let anyone take it away. Even when you were delirious, you wanted it by you."

He ducked his head against her, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh, Lu, what did I do to him? How he must hate me now."

"Of course he doesn't hate you. He knows it wasn't your fault."

"The things I accused him of–"

"He loves you," she crooned softly, rocking him against her. "He never stopped loving you, not for a minute."

He clung to her for a long while, his tears darkening the soft pink velvet of her dress as she stroked his hair.

"It's going to be all right, Peter. Aslan hasn't forgotten us. He sent Edmund home to put everything right again."

"Aslan," he breathed. _The Kings belong to Him. _It had been real. Even if he could barely remember it, the litany and Edmund saying it with him had been real. "Oh, Aslan."

Lucy shushed him again. "Susan's going to be back soon. Remember, you mustn't be awake when she's here."

"But Edmund. He's coming back? He's–"

He broke off, closing his eyes and letting himself go limp as the chamber door opened.

"Lucy?"

That was Susan's voice. He could hear the rattle of china as she came closer and set down the tray.

"Did I hear Peter say something?"

"He talks in his sleep sometimes," Lucy said, her voice suddenly taking on a vapid, dreamy quality. "Did you bring us toast?"

Peter felt Susan's hand on his forehead and then caressing his cheek, and then he heard her disappointed sigh.

"I was hoping he was awake at last."

She sounded so very tired. He wanted to open his eyes and comfort her, reassure her that he was truly getting better, but he remembered Lucy's warning and Edmund's. He wasn't quite sure why yet, but he knew Susan had to be kept in the dark a bit longer.

"Has His Majesty shown signs of waking, My Queen?"

Peter had to force himself not to tense at the sound of that voice. Gil. His friend. His would-be murderer. He had hardly believed it when Edmund told him what the Knight had been up to, but after last night there was no doubt in his mind. He was the Snake that had crushed Edmund in his dream. He, not Edmund, was the Adder.

"I'm afraid not," Susan told him. "He was only talking in his sleep."

"I am sorry to hear it. I have long hoped to see some change in our High King's condition."

Peter felt Lucy's hold on him tighten almost imperceptibly. They both knew the kind of change the Knight was hoping for.

"But you must pardon my brevity, dear ladies. My ship stays only my farewells to my honored Queens."

"Must you go to Galma after all?" Susan asked.

"Indeed, My Queen, but I should return by tomorrow evening. You are well guarded here, are you not?"

"Yes." Susan put an extra note of cheerfulness in her voice. "I'm sure we'll be fine. Just don't be long. I don't know how I'd manage without you."

Peter forced his breathing to stay slow and even, forced his eyes to stay closed, waiting until the Knight finished his fawning farewells and left the room. No wonder Edmund and Lucy didn't want Susan to know he was awake yet. The Snake had her hypnotized, may Aslan help them all.

OOOOO

Edmund crept into Peter's room once the deep night had come again. He wasn't certain about the legitimacy of this mission that had taken Gilfrey away from Cair Paravel for a time, but Lucy had stayed up on the highest tower of the castle, watching until the Snake had boarded his ship and then waiting until the ship had set out. She had set a pair of loyal Sparrows to check for any sign of his return, but there was no word from them. Edmund was wary all the same, but he wanted to, needed to, watch over his brother. He couldn't let anything happen to Peter now.

As he had on the first night, Edmund went to Susan first, whispering her name, finding her insensibly asleep once more. Obviously, the false Knight had arranged for her to still be drugged and helpless even when he was away. Aslan helping him, he'd free her from the Snake's foul grasp before long.

Peter was sleeping, too, still looking worn and weary, but the aura of death no longer clung to him, and there was the slightest tinge of color in his cheeks. Edmund uncorked the flask and carefully lifted Peter's head to give him more of the precious Canicule juice, but he started awake, instinctively pushing Edmund away.

"It's all right, Peter. Shh, it's only me. It's only me."

"Ed." Peter took the juice obediently, his eyes fixed on his brother. "You came back."

"I always come back. Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?"

Peter was still drowsy-eyed, but on his slack face there was a glimmer of his brilliant smile. The smile faded as he took hold of Edmund's sleeve.

"Eddie, I'm so sorry. Everything–"

His voice broke, and Edmund smoothed his hair, shushing him, blinking back his own tears. "Go back to sleep now. When you're feeling better, we can talk about what a fool you've been."

He smirked when he said it, and Peter laughed wetly. Then with a deep sob, he brought the back of Edmund's hand to his lips.

"I'm so very sorry."

Edmund sat on the edge of the bed, holding him close, soothing him back into sleep, watching him breathe and thanking Aslan for every breath. Peter was still kitten-weak and perhaps not out of danger yet, but he was alive. He was alive.

At last, knowing the juice was likely to make Peter sleep long and deeply, Edmund slipped his hand free and went to the window. The kingdom, _his_ kingdom, was quiet and still under the clear starlight, everything softened with snow. A fond smile touched his lips. This wasn't the Witch's winter, the harsh winter that had bound Narnia for a hundred years. This was Aslan's winter, a winter that fell naturally after rich autumn and brought rest to the land, a winter that eventually brought Christmas and then spring. It was a winter that belonged here as he and his brother and sisters belonged here. Narnia was theirs, by gift of the Lion, and if it cost him his life, he wasn't about to see her taken by a scheming, murderous Snake.

Clutching the heavy curtain, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Oh, Aslan, help me know what to do now. Watch over Peter and Susan and Lucy. Hold us all between your paws. Please, Aslan, protect us from–"

Edmund gasped as he felt a cold blade at his throat.

"Evidently your Lion is deaf as well as helpless, Edmund Pevensie."

He knew the voice, though he dared not turn.

It was Gilfrey.

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have, as always, been most helpful in making sure this stuff makes some kind of sense. Thank you both!**

–**WD**

**P. S. Special birthday wishes on June 8****th**** to UnderTheWeepingWillow and to my extra-special beta, OFG95. I hope your birthday is JUST MAGNIFICENT! :D**


	19. Villainy

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

VILLAINY

"Gilfrey."

The false Knight stood at Edmund's back, his right arm around Edmund's neck and the razor edge of his dagger resting delicately under Edmund's left ear.

"Pitiful, is it not, traitor?"

Gilfrey used the subtle pressure of the blade to make Edmund take a stumbling step backwards, forcing Edmund to clutch his arm with both hands so he wouldn't fall.

"You Pevensies, you're all so terribly predictable. I knew you would return to your brother, no matter how foolish it was to do so. I knew about the Sparrows, too, mind you, the ones Queen Lucy employed. Pity they were watching for my return and not for my Sparrowhawks."

"How many murders is that now?" Edmund asked, making his voice cool and even.

The Knight laughed softly. "Our dear High King leads me to believe there is a saying in the world you came from. Something about the making of omelets and the breaking of eggs. But not to worry. Only a few more eggs need be broken."

Still behind him, Gilfrey snaked his left arm across Edmund's chest, pulling him back another step or two and then pressing close to hiss into his ear.

"What is the part of a loyal Knight of Narnia but to defend the kingdom from rogues and villains? And, were he to see his beloved High King stabbed to death by his traitor brother as he lies helpless in his bed, who could fault such a Knight if he falls upon the most unnatural murderer and slays him in his righteous anger?"

Edmund's already-pounding heart picked up speed. His back was to the bed, but he knew Peter was lying in it, still and defenseless, fast asleep in the knowledge that his protector, his trusty younger brother, was watching over him this night. _Oh, Peter, I've failed you again._

"No one will believe it."

"No, traitor? They saw you banished. Betrayals and blasphemies and murders proved, do you think they would not believe this? Your own sister, the Gentle Queen, believes."

Edmund glanced at Susan, still sleeping, drugged, in the chair near the bed. "Lucy won't believe it. Lucy will never believe it, and she'll never let you get away with it."

"But, alas, everyone knows the poor child has been addled since her near-drowning." Gilfrey drew him back again, another step closer to the bed. "The people know she has a loyal and tender heart and that she could never see wrong in one she loved. And they would doubtless understand, in her . . . delicate state of mind, how grief over the loss of her brothers and Kings might drive her to despair."

Edmund trembled at that. _Not Lucy. Oh, not Lucy_.

"If she were to be left alone in her chambers, quite unintentionally, of course, it would be a pity if she were to cast herself from her balcony onto the rocks below." The Snake's laugh was barely more than a breath against Edmund's ear. "Fitting, is it not, that our Valiant Queen should make her end in her very own sea."

"I won't let you," Edmund warned, the words a low growl, and this time Gilfrey laughed aloud.

"Won't let me, traitor? Which of us has a blade to his throat?"

Edmund grasped his arm more tightly as the pressure against his windpipe increased. "Aslan won't let you."

Edmund more than half expected to hear that nasty laugh again. Instead, the Snake breathed a curse into his ear, a curse on him, on his family and, most especially, on the Lion.

"Need there be any better reason I should rule and not the likes of you? I have taken Narnia in all but name. Your High King lies near death, awaiting only my pleasure as to the hour it shall come to pass. Your younger Queen feigns madness because she knows she is not strong enough to face me. The elder is in my power, the oh-so-malleable key to my legitimate reign. And you, poor fool, broken, disgraced, vilified before all the world, you yet believe the Lion will somehow save you? That He would concern Himself with such as you?"

"He will do His good pleasure," Edmund replied. "If it is His wish that I and all mine go to His country, then we shall go. If not, you have no power to harm us."

"Shall we try that, traitor?" The dagger stung Edmund's skin, and a warm trickle of blood ran down the side of his neck. "Shall we see who holds power over your life? Shall we see who is most master here, I or your pathetic Lion?"

Edmund's pulse beat faster as the blade sliced more deeply into his flesh.

"Aslan!" the Snake called. "I am about to cut the throat of your traitor here."

Edmund held his breath, but there was only silence in the night.

"Aslan?" Gilfrey called again, a sneer audible in his voice as he cut yet more deeply. "He seems to place little value on your blood, traitor."

Edmund closed his eyes, unable to keep from trembling, but almost wanting to laugh as well. What did this rash idiot know of the price Aslan had paid for his blood? If He required repayment now, it was no more than just.

"Do you see, traitor? He is silent and knows He can do nothing to take you from my hand." Gilfrey laughed again and lifted his face to the heavens. "Aslan, see the death of your chosen!"

At those words, there came a deafening roar. Before Gilfrey could do more than gasp, Edmund brought his booted heel down on his instep and twisted out of his grasp, flinging the Snake to the floor. The bloodied dagger in his own hand now, he glared down at the would-be king.

"Get up."

Gilfrey scrambled to his feet, cowering behind Susan's chair.

"Get away from her," Edmund ordered, gesturing with the blade.

There was a wild gleam in the false Knight's eye, and before Edmund could lunge at him, he had his hands around Susan's neck, keeping her between himself and the dagger. She never stirred.

"Not yet, traitor. You've not bested me yet."

"Have you learned nothing?" Edmund asked, wondering how the man could be such a fool. "Hasn't Aslan already–"

"Some trick of yours, no more than that, I daresay, but do not think I will be cozened by it again. Give me back the dagger."

"Get away from her."

Gilfrey leered at Susan, hands stroking her throat. "Or what, traitor? Take another step, and I break this lovely neck. It would be a pity, of course, to lose the fine sport she would have made me once she was mine, but hardly worth my life, eh? Women, even fair ones, are common goods. Kingdoms, on the other hand . . . "

He lifted one dark brow, a glittering smile on his cunning face. Edmund only stood, panting and wary. Waiting.

Again the false Knight traced his fingers over Susan's neck, eyes fixed on Edmund's, gauging his reaction. "So lovely. So fragile."

"What do you want?"

Gilfrey held out one hand. "Give me the dagger."

When Edmund drew back, the fingers at Susan's throat changed from caressing to crushing. Soon she began to squirm in his grip, still insensible, still helpless. Edmund started towards her and stopped again when Gilfrey tightened his hold yet more.

"Do not even think it, traitor. It takes but the span of a heartbeat to snap a neck." Again the Snake held out his hand. "Give me the dagger."

Edmund did as he was told.

With a glittering smile, Gilfrey released his hold on Susan and stepped from behind her.

"Now, on your knees."

He pointed the dagger at the floor, and again Edmund obeyed.

"You've been a thorn in my eye from the very beginning." Gilfrey circled around him, the gleaming blade pointed always at his heart. "Were it not for you, the High King would not have taken so long to break to my will. Even as it was, no matter how much of the potion I gave him, I could not make him sentence you to death as I had planned. That would have saved us all so much inconvenience."

He sneered at Peter as he lay oblivious and unmoving in the bed and then turned back to Edmund.

"But all that will be remedied now." The Knight seized a handful of Edmund's hair, drawing back his head to expose his throat to the blade. "Make your farewells, traitor. If it is comfort to you, know that your brother will soon join you in death."

He raised the dagger, and Edmund closed his eyes. _Aslan–_

Edmund heard a loud gasp, and his eyes flew open. The hand in his hair convulsed, Gilfrey's body stiffened, and he fell to his knees beside the bed, eyes and mouth open wide.

"Betrayer," Peter said, his voice low and shaky, his blue eyes all ice. "Traitor. Murderer. We shall not ourself see you again."

He ripped the sharp end of Edmund's broken sword from the Knight's back and then, suddenly unable to lift it any longer, let it clatter to the floor. Gilfrey dropped, unmoving, at Edmund's feet.

"Peter," Edmund breathed, wide eyed, and Peter collapsed back against the pillows.

Edmund was immediately beside him. "Peter. Peter, are you all right?"

Peter nodded, breathless.

"How long have you been awake?"

"I heard Aslan's roar. It was almost more than I could bear since then, lying here still until that villain was within reach. Is he dead?"

Edmund prodded the false Knight with his boot, eliciting a low groan. "He's fortunate you weren't any stronger just yet."

He used the sturdy curtain ties to bind the Snake's wrists and ankles and then dragged him over to the far corner of the room. That done, he hurried back to his brother. Peter's hand was smeared with blood, his own and not Gilfrey's, but he reached it up to the wound on Edmund's neck and then to his face.

"All right?"

"I'm fine." Edmund took that hand and cradled it in his own, examining the deep cuts his broken blade had left across the palm and fingers. "We'll get Lucy's cordial–"

"No." Peter pulled his hand away, curling it defensively against his chest, letting the blood redden the white of his nightshirt. "No. The healers can tend to it. It'll be fine."

"It'll scar. Let me–"

"No." Peter's eyes flashed, and then he squeezed them shut and turned his face away. "I want– I want those scars."

A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, and Edmund knelt beside him, drawing his head to his shoulder. "Peter–"

Again Peter reached up his bloodied fingers, touching them to Edmund's cheek. "I never want to forget how badly I hurt my own right hand."

Careful of those wounds, Edmund covered that hand, holding it there against his face, swallowing down the sudden tightness in his throat. "It was never your fault."

"Everything I put you through–"

"Everything _he_ put _us_ through."

Peter pressed closer to him, body trembling. "I'll never forgive myself."

Laughing faintly, Edmund brushed his lips against the golden hair, tears finally spilling over. "And I, brother mine, will never forgive you if you don't."

Hearing a moan from the far side of the room, Edmund looked up. Gilfrey was struggling against his bonds, muttering and cursing.

Edmund frowned. "I suppose I should have him looked after before he bleeds out."

Peter's eyes narrowed, cold and hard. "Get him out of my sight."

Edmund dragged the helpless Gilfrey to the door and flung it open. The twin Tigers of Peter's guard bristled at the sight of the banished King, growling and baring their teeth until Peter called them off and told them to make sure the deceitful Knight was properly seen to. It seemed only a moment after they were gone that the room was flooded with lights and voices and Lucy was at Peter's bedside.

"Peter." She noticed his injured hand at once, and pressed her lips to the back of it. "I'll get my cordial."

Before Peter could refuse for himself, Edmund shook his head at her. She gave him only a slightly puzzled glance, but said nothing more about it. He was glad she was perceptive enough to know when to leave well alone. Instead, once she had Susan taken to her own bed to recover from her drugged sleep, Lucy contented herself with crawling into bed at Peter's side and holding his good hand while the healers stitched him up. As they did, Peter, with an occasional hiss of pain, told his loyal attendants in brief what had happened. And, seeing the High King and the Valiant Queen both in full possession of their senses and both obviously taking great pleasure in the return of the Just King, they began to smile again. It seemed that their sovereigns had returned and the dark, uncertain times under Sir Gilfrey Becke had at last come to an end.

OOOOO

"She won't come."

Edmund looked up from the bountiful breakfast his younger sister had arranged to be served at the bedside of the High King. He and Lucy and Peter had all slept in the wide bed, nestled together like kittens in a basket. This morning, all he wanted was for Susan to join them.

"She won't," Lucy continued. "I tried."

Edmund put down his half-eaten toast, reading the sorrow in her eyes. "She still thinks I'm a traitor."

"No." Lucy seized his hand. "She doesn't. Truly. She just– She just can't bear to face you now. She's so ashamed that she didn't believe you all along."

Peter looked at him. "Shall I send for her?"

"No." Edmund wiped his mouth and stood up. "I'll go talk to her."

Lucy shook her head. "She won't–"

"I'll talk to her."

In another moment, he was at Susan's door, but he realized he was afraid to knock. What if she did still believe him guilty? What if she hated him still?

He lifted his hand. At least he'd know.

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have again been wondrously helpful in getting this chapter out in record time. They are THE best. **

**If you want to know what Peter and Edmund talked about after Gilfrey Becke was taken into custody (and before the rest of the events of this story take place), you can find out in my companion piece "Amity."**

–**WD**


	20. Fidelity

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

FIDELITY

Susan lifted her head at the knock on her door. Lucy again, she was certain. What more was there to say? How much more foolish was she meant to feel? How much more deceived and used? How much more faithless?

Again came that hesitant knock, and again she stared into her looking glass. Her eyes and nose were swollen, her skin patched with red, and there was distinct bruising on her pale throat. She wasn't fit to be seen, not even by her family. Perhaps especially by her family.

Once again there was a knock, and she went over to sit on the bed, her head aching as it did every morning lately. At least now she knew why. Night after night, that swine Gilfrey had put something into her wine to make her sleep while he systematically poisoned her older brother. While he stole their kingdom. While he did who knew what else? And she had sat by, smiling and grateful, trusting him to care for Narnia, to care for her. Fool.

Fool.

She dropped her head into her hands when the knock came for the fourth time.

"Yes, Lucy, come in."

She heard the door turn on its hinges and then soft footsteps on her plush rugs. Hearing nothing more, she sighed.

"Really, Lu, it's very sweet of you, but I'm not a bit hungry. I'll come check on Peter in a little while."

"Susan."

She caught her breath. No, no, no. She couldn't talk to him right now. She couldn't face–

"Susan?"

She pressed her crumpled handkerchief to her mouth and didn't look up. She couldn't.

"Susan."

Edmund's voice was soft and so tender, and she couldn't possibly understand how that could be. How could he speak to her at all? How could he bear to even look at her?

"I'm sorry, Su."

_He_ was sorry?

"I know you've been hurt by all this, too. I'm so sorry it was because of me. Believe me, please, Su, if you can, I'd never intentionally wrong you. You and Lucy and Peter, you're everything to me. I'd die before I'd betray you all again. Please believe me. I wouldn't–"

"I know!" A deep sob tore at her. "I know."

He didn't say anything else for the longest time. Then she felt the mattress shift as he sat on the bed beside her.

"You know what I remember most about that Other Place, Su? About England?"

She twisted her body away from him, trying not to make any obnoxious little sobbing noises, not wanting him to see her tear-blotched face.

"What I remember is Mum telling Peter to look after us all and telling you to be a big girl and asking Lucy if she was warm enough and all of you hugging her and letting her know you loved her. She told me to listen to Peter." He snorted derisively. "When did I ever listen to Peter?"

She remembered that day, maybe not very clearly now, but well enough. She definitely remembered the angry little ten-year-old he had been.

"She tried to hug me, too, " he said, "and I wasn't having any of it. I shrugged her off with a scowl and got on the train. Now it's–"

There was a little catch in his voice that anyone else might have missed. It broke her heart.

"Now it's been ten years." He took another shallow breath. "Ten years, and I haven't been able to hug her. I haven't been able to tell her I love her. Maybe I won't ever see her again, and that will be the last memory I ever have of her. The last memory she'll have of me."

His hand stole into hers and she grasped it as hard as she was able, clinging to it, desperate for it, still not daring to face him.

"Don't you realize, Su? You've looked after me for as many years here as Mum did back there. You've been–"

"I hit you." Her voice was barely audible. "I struck you in the face. I believed all that– all those lies. I wouldn't even let you try to explain."

"Susan, don't." He took her into his arms, pressing his lips to her cheek, to her hair. "Don't let that be your last memory of me."

She couldn't help it now. She was sobbing against him, shaking and hardly able to breathe. But he only held her close, soothing her with caresses.

"Edmund–"

"You were deceived, Su. As Peter was."

"But he was drugged. Poisoned. I wasn't–"

"It was deceit either way. No different from what the Witch did to me."

"But I–"

"No different from what you forgave me for without even a second thought."

She couldn't answer that. A mistake made by an angry little boy, a mistake he had atoned for every day of his life since, didn't seem quite on par with her outright abandonment of the brother she had loved. Did love.

"I'm not saying it didn't hurt, Su. All of it hurt. More than I thought I could bear sometimes. I just don't want to hold on to that hurt. It's over now. That– Gilfrey can't harm any of us anymore. We were all deceived. We were all hurt. I just want to come home now. Home is Cair Paravel. Home is Peter and Lucy and you. It's not home without you. Please, Su, let me come home."

At last she dared look up at him. At last she dared look into his eyes, his beautiful dark eyes made darker still with the pleading tears that stood in them, eyes that told her without words that he forgave her, that he loved her still.

She hugged him until her arms ached, sobbing out all her grief and fear. "You were gone and Peter was dying and I didn't know what was happening to Lucy and I couldn't– All I had was Gil. And he was so kind and so helpful and Peter trusted him and– "

"Aslan was there, Su. You should have turned to Him first."

"Aslan." She started to cry again. "He left me, too. I couldn't find him. So much happened all at once, and I needed somebody. I couldn't face being alone. You and Peter–"

Edmund stroked her hair, still holding her tightly against him. "He never left you, Su. No matter how bad things get, He never leaves."

"But I– Oh, Edmund, I'm so ashamed. I handled everything so badly."

He pushed her head to his shoulder once more. "He loves you, Su. No matter what you've done. Trust me, I know what it's like to think you've gone too far to ever be taken back. He always takes us back."

"I don't think I could face Him now."

"We can either run from Him or to Him," he said, his voice soft and wise.

"But I can't–"

"You can't let it worry you now. He understands. Just talk to Him. He'll listen." He held her there for a long moment and then stood up and offered her his hand. "Come on. Breakfast is getting cold."

She shook her head. "No, really. I don't want any–"

"Sure you do."

She looked away once more. "I can't. I look–"

"You look beautiful." With one finger under her chin, he turned her face up to him. "You look like home."

OOOOO

That day, messengers were sent in the name of the High King to every corner of the kingdom proclaiming the treachery of Gilfrey Becke, traitor, murderer and recreant, and the innocence of King Edmund, who had shown his valor in delivering from the ignoble hand of the false Knight the life of his royal brother and all of Narnia and who, by his steadfastness, was proved a true servant of the Great Lion. Further, it was commanded that, within three days' time, all those with knowledge of the traitor's workings or knowledge of any who had aided him were to come to the Court of Cair Paravel to make them known. Anyone who wished to confess his part in Gilfrey's schemes and, perchance, receive the High King's mercy, was also commanded to appear. It was made clear that the punishment for those who must be brought to trial by force would be several fold more severe than that meted out to those who came willingly.

For two days the High King, with his brother-King restored to his place at his right hand and his sister-Queens at his left, gave hearing to all who appeared before him. The loyal were handsomely rewarded, the repentant were pardoned with caution to tread carefully in time to come, and the defiant were banished or imprisoned or, in the case of the most hardened few, sent to await execution. At last, when all his transgressions were laid out and well documented, the false Knight, Gilfrey Becke himself was brought, hands bound before him, into the royal presence to make answer.

He denied nothing.

The Snake merely stood sneering, his over-proud face defiant under the pallor of blood loss, smug in the certainty of his own superiority. Edmund wasn't surprised. After the litany of his crimes had been read over in his presence, from the betrayal of the troops in the Western March to the murders of the Black Dwarf Glawkin, Windswift the Falcon, the Cherry Tree Dryad Cerise and others, to his foul attempts on the lives of the Kings and Queens themselves, the false Knight merely laughed.

"Do you think that is all?" He gazed up at the sovereigns as if he expected there to be admiration rather than stern reproof in their faces. "What have you brought me here to say? I have done all you claim and more. I have done all in my power and by any means to take your kingdom from you. Do you think, O High King, that it was mere mischance that we were fallen upon by Giants that day in Ettinsmoor? I betrayed you to them so I might then betray them and rescue you, earning your favor. Pity the poor fools were so zealous in playing their part. One blow more to Your Majesty's royal head, and our game would have been spoilt before it could begin."

Edmund glanced at his brother. Peter was still pale, still thin, his hand still bandaged, but he was golden and magnificent once more, and he looked on the miscreant with kingly hauteur, silent and disdainful.

"Or it may be that Your Majesty thinks it was only misfortune that your doors were left open that night our Gentle Queen found you half dead and covered in snow. If she had merely gone to sleep and waited until morning to check on you as I had urged, perhaps now she and I alone would be seated in those thrones."

His brazen eyes swept over Susan as she glared back at him, her full lips pressed into an unyielding line.

"And shall I tell you, My Gentle Queen, of the liberties I took each night once my sleeping draught had rendered you helpless?"

The onlookers murmured at that. Susan gave her brothers a stricken glance and then looked down at the marble floor, her face flushing pink and then white. Edmund clenched his fists. He prayed what he had observed himself had been the extent of the villain's audacity, but he had no way of knowing for certain. Either way, he'd cut the swine down now if he dared go on.

"You are here by our sufferance, Becke," Peter said, his voice low and steely. "Speak one word more of the Queen Susan, and your life is immediately forfeit."

The false Knight bowed mockingly. "Even so, My King. But is it not already? What have I to gain by knightly courtesy this late in our game?" He repeated that derisive bow towards Lucy. "And what might I say of you, Little Queen? I must admit, with admiration, that you were more of a challenge than I foresaw. I would have greatly enjoyed allowing you to administer the fatal dose of my potion to your brother with your own dainty hands, but it seems you bested me in that. Your sister is most fair, it is true." His eyes swept over her slender body. "But I wonder now if I might have found more pleasure in your taming than hers."

Before Peter could do more than spring to his feet, Edmund struck the prisoner with his fist, driving him to his knees, drawing a few gasps from the courtiers present.

"Never soil my sisters with speaking to them again."

The Snake glared up at him, panting and touching his tongue to the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. "I'll see you paid out for that, traitor. Mark me well, I will."

"Enough of this." Peter signaled the trio of Wolverines that had charge of the prisoner. "See he is securely kept until we are ready to make known our pleasure in this."

One of the Wolverines growled and nudged Gilfrey. "Get up."

Scowling, the prisoner moved to comply and then, with a groan, toppled onto his side, making a vain attempt with his hands tied to reach around to the place where he had been stabbed.

"Get up!" the Wolverine snarled once more.

Gilfrey struggled to his knees again and then collapsed at Lucy's feet. Always compassionate, she stood, reaching out to him.

"Lucy!" both of the Kings gasped, but it was too late.

In a flash, the false Knight kicked her legs out from under her and rolled over with her, throwing his arms over her head, shoving his bound hands up under her chin, pressing his forearm tightly against her throat. The Wolverines lunged towards him, but Peter called them off. Edmund looked at Peter and then Susan and then again at Lucy. Her eyes were wide in her white face, but she didn't make a sound.

"Wise move, My King," the prisoner panted as he pulled himself and his captive into a sitting position. "As I before told your traitor brother, it takes but the span of a heartbeat to snap a neck."

"All of you, get back," Peter ordered his guard and the other soldiers present, his eyes fixed on the Snake. "Let her go."

"Or what, My King?" Gilfrey laughed. "What do I risk?"

"Think more what you have to gain," Edmund said, moving almost imperceptibly closer to him.

"Revenge on you, traitor." The false Knight sneered. "As I said before, I am condemned already. You can kill me but once. Before that time, though, I can kill at least one of you."

He tightened his hold, making Lucy draw a startled breath, but she refused to cry out.

"Or you could let her go and walk free." Edmund glanced again at his brother, long enough to see his brief nod, and then he turned back to Gilfrey. "Let her go. Let her go unharmed, and I swear I'll not lift a hand against you. Now or ever."

"Nor I," Peter was quick to add.

The prisoner laughed. "What? With an entire army at your beck? What need you to do the deed yourselves?"

"Nor any of our men," Edmund promised, giving his soldiers a warning glance.

"That oath might hold in my own land. In Galma." Gilfrey gave him a snide smile. "But in a kingdom of talking Beasts, what need a man do it for you?"

"Nor any beast," Peter swore through gritted teeth. "By the Lion and as Knight and High King of Narnia, I pledge it."

"And I," Edmund said. "Aslan judge me."

The false Knight narrowed his eyes. "Cut my bonds."

Heart pounding, Edmund took the dagger from his belt and came closer, his eyes meeting his little sister's.

"Courage, Lu," he murmured.

"Go on," Gilfrey barked.

Edmund sliced through the ropes at the Snake's wrists, and let them fall to the floor. Gilfrey kept his hands at Lucy's throat, thin lips mocking and curled. "I know you're both weak-minded enough to keep an oath once you've sworn it. But still, I'll keep your sister until I am clear of here. Just to be certain."

"No," Peter said, his hand on his own dagger, and Gilfrey gazed at him coolly.

"Would Your High Majesty prefer I kill her at once?"

"Wait." Edmund set his own blade down at the false Knight's feet. "You want revenge on me." He nodded toward the blood that still trickled from the corner of Gilfrey's mouth. "For that. For everything else. I'll go with you."

Something primordially evil sparked into Gilfrey's eyes. "You'll–"

"Willingly. Let her go, and you may have your freedom and do as you please with me."

Lucy's eyes widened yet more, and Peter grabbed his arm.

"Ed–"

Edmund merely pulled free of him, keeping his eyes fixed on the Snake. "Have we a bargain?"

Tears glimmered on Susan's cheeks, and she had both hands to her mouth. "Edmund, no."

Gilfrey considered for a wary moment. "You will submit yourself to me and neither you nor your brother nor any of your men or Beasts will come in any way against me?"

"As I am King and Knight and as I belong to the Lion, I swear it."

Peter took his arm again. "I won't let you, Edmund. I'll go."

"You're not strong enough. Besides, I'm the one he wants." He gave Peter a brief, sturdy hug and then turned back to Gilfrey, smiling his own dangerous smile. "I'm the one he can never best except by foul means. He couldn't meet me on fair terms and win, and he knows it."

The Snake's eyes narrowed and then he laughed again. "Fair or foul, it makes me no difference, so long as I end up the victor." He glanced at the floor. "Give me that."

Edmund handed him the discarded dagger, and he immediately pointed it at Lucy's heart. Then he shoved her to the ground and seized Edmund's arm, pulling him close so he could hold the blade against his back. "Once we are quit of this place, I shall enjoy draining your life from you one agonizing drop at a time."

"Edmund," Lucy cried, for the first time weeping, and Peter pulled her to her feet, letting her hide her face against him, putting his other arm around Susan.

Edmund took one last longing glance at the three of them. Would he see them again? The Lion knew. _Aslan, keep them safe._

Gilfrey prodded him between the shoulder blades, obviously not caring whether or not he drew blood.

"Come, traitor. We have far to go." He, too, looked back at the three sovereigns still before their thrones. "None of you move. Until we have reached cover of the wood, the instant I catch sight of anyone, he dies."

"We have given our word," Edmund said, his voice clear and even as he again looked at his family. "Neither the High King nor I nor any man nor any Beast shall make a move against you."

Head held high, Edmund led the way through the courtiers and soldiers that filled the throne room, silent but for his sisters' soft weeping. Still with the point of his own dagger pricking his skin, he led the false Knight out of the castle and into the courtyard. He slowed then, again looking back. Cair Paravel. Home. _Oh, Aslan– _

"Take a good look, traitor. It will be your last."

Gilfrey prodded him with the dagger once more, and Edmund grimaced as a sudden rivulet of blood slid down his back.

"Just the beginning, Edmund Pevensie," the Snake hissed into his ear. "And when I've done with you, when I at last grant what I've made you beg me for and give you the mercy of death, I will come back. First for your delectable sisters and then for the High King himself. Narnia shall yet be mine, and your Lion will be powerless to stop me."

Eyes still fixed on the castle, Edmund caught his breath as he saw just a glimmer of movement from one of the turrets. Then he let a hint of a cool smile touch his lips. "May He have mercy on your soul."

Before Gilfrey could do more than open his sneering mouth to respond, there was a twanging whoosh. He arched and then slumped into the crisp snow, staining it with blood as red as the fletching on the arrow embedded in the back of his skull. His wide-open, unblinking eyes told the tale, but just to be certain, Edmund knelt and pressed his fingers to his pulseless throat.

"You ought to have borne in mind, Snake, that our Gentle Queen, besides being the finest archer in Narnia, is neither King nor man nor Beast."

All at once, the silent courtyard was overrun with courtiers and soldiers and Beasts of every description. Above the din, he could hear Lucy's voice.

"Edmund! Edmund!"

She threw herself against him, and he caught her in his arms, swinging her off her feet.

"Lu! Are you all right?"

"Are you?"

Edmund nodded, hugging her tightly to himself, and then he felt a strong pair of arms engulfing them both.

"Peter."

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut and pressed closer to them. They were safe. They were all safe, and the Snake was dead.

Finally, one of Peter's Tiger's cleared his throat. "And him, Your Majesty?"

Peter spared only a glance at the body sprawled at their feet. Every inch the High King, he raised his voice for his people to hear.

"Let the vermin be flung into a pit, and let him not be remembered except that he met the end most meet for those who would be false to duty and honor and trust. He is Aslan's now to judge."

The Wolverines dragged the body off towards the stables, and the sovereigns were silent for a moment.

"Come on," Peter said finally. "I imagine Su's a little shaken up by all this. I think she'll especially need to see you're all right, Ed."

"Edmund!" Susan ran to them, dropping her bow into the snow behind her so she could pull Edmund away from the other two and hold him close herself. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

He grinned and shook his head. "Bless you, Su, you haven't lost your aim, have you?"

She smiled and then, sobbing, she hugged him tightly. "Is it over? Is it finally over?"

"He's dead. It's all over."

They clung together until Lucy wriggled her way into the embrace and then Peter took them all three into his arms. It was over, and they were all safe. Safe at home at last.

**Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 again has made sure a number of foolish errors and omissions have not made their way into this chapter. I am most grateful. Just an epilogue to come and this story will be told.**

**If you want to know what Peter and Edmund talked about after Edmund had his talk with Susan (and before the rest of the events of this story take place), you can find out in my companion piece "Clarity."**

–**WD**


	21. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

EPILOGUE

Edmund straightened his shoulders and smoothed his new doublet as he stood waiting to be summoned before the Queens and the High King. Made especially for the occasion by the mice who tailored his clothes, the doublet was jet black and trimmed with an intricate silvery sort of cording of which the mice were justifiably proud. Edmund preferred something more practical, something that would stand up to riding and hunting and such, and Lucy, though very complimentary about his new outfit, had agreed. But Susan, who had insisted on inspecting him ahead of time, said it particularly suited his coloring. After that, Peter had taken to calling him Snow White, and the hope of any sort of civil conclusion to the discussion had at that point been fairly well abandoned.

It was good to have things back to normal. Good to see Lucy's eyes glowing with laughter. Good to have Susan fussing over him. Good to know Peter was well enough for merciless teasing and even a bit of roughhousing behind Susan's back. It was good to be home.

Somehow, though, he felt nervous now. He'd spent half his lifetime appearing in the throne room before dignitaries and important personages of all ranks and from all the lands. He was well used to standing before his people and speaking. But the last time he had been formally summoned here, it was to hear his brother and High King pass sentence upon him for his supposed treason. Now he knew he was to have a very different reception.

Finally, with a brassy fanfare, the doors swung open, the throng of courtiers parted, and Edmund walked towards the four thrones escorted by a pair of Tigers and a Gryphon, the High King's guard, this time a guard of honor. When he stood before his brother and sisters, he bowed his bare head.

"My Liege Lord and High King. My noble Queens."

Peter returned a regal nod. "Edmund Pevensie, you are welcome to us and to this company. Before we begin, our General has a matter to address."

He looked to his right, and Oreius came forward and stood in front of Edmund. He made the usual Centaur bow and then, to Edmund's astonishment, bent his forelegs, as a human would kneel. Lowering his head, he offered up a gleaming sword flat across his palms. Edmund's sword. The one that had been broken. It was whole now, perfect and shining.

"My King."

Edmund took it from him, tears swelling his throat, making his voice come out rather choked.

"Thank you."

"I am ashamed, My King," the proud Centaur began. "I allowed myself to be deceived when I should have known you for who you truly are. I submit myself to whatever discipline Your Majesty thinks most meet, along with my removal as General of your army."

Edmund looked helplessly at his brother. He hadn't planned on this. Surely Peter would never–

Peter merely nodded at Edmund, leaving the decision in his hands.

Edmund turned to the Centaur again, remembering that very first terrifying sight of him as he was rescued from the Witch's camp, remembering clinging to him when he had his first even-more-terrifying glimpse of the Lion, remembering everything the Centaur had done in the ten years since to teach him honor and chivalry and kingship.

He made his expression stern. "Then hear your sentence, Oreius. You are condemned from this day forward to serve as General over Narnia's army, second only to us and to the High King himself, with all the courage and faithfulness you have shown since our arrival here."

Oreius looked up and then bowed his head again. "Surely, Your Majesty, I should not be allowed–"

"Further," Edmund interrupted firmly, "you are condemned to never again concern yourself over what is past, to remember only whatever wisdom Aslan has taught you through the experience and to know we are well aware that everything you thought or did was in unwavering care of our brother, our sisters and our kingdom."

"My King–"

"Lastly, you are condemned to hold to the oath you made to our High King in that first battle on Beruna's field." Edmund put one hand on the brawny shoulder. "To him and to all of us."

Edmund's hand was swallowed up by the Centaur's, holding it there where it was. Then the General lifted his head, dark eyes fixed on Edmund's.

"To the death."

He stood at last and, with another bow from the waist, backed gracefully to one side, leaving Edmund there alone before the four thrones, his gleaming sword still in his hand. Before he could sheathe it, Lucy stood up, regal in her flowery silver crown and her gown of rich forest green and with her fair hair falling in loose curls to her waist. She reached out her slender hand.

"If you please, noble sir."

He gave her the sword.

"Kneel," she commanded, her usually merry face stern and queenly, and he obeyed.

"Though you were made so by the very paws of the Great Lion Himself, we before all this company, before our kingdom and before all the worlds affirm that you, Edmund Pevensie, are a Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, and neither in word nor in deed have you ever shown yourself unworthy the title. Bear this sword in might and in right. Bear these blows and no others." Lifting it with both hands, she brought the flat of his blade down on one shoulder and then the other and then returned the sword to him. "Take your own back again, Sir Edmund, and may any foolish enough to seek to take it from you perish in the attempt."

She leaned down and kissed his forehead and sat again in her throne. As he knelt there still, Susan approached, her crown of golden flowers bright against her lush black hair and her fair skin aglow against the vivid red of her gown.

"Though you were made so at the pleasure of the Great Lion Himself, we before all this company, before our kingdom and before all the worlds affirm that you, Edmund Pevensie, are the Duke of Lantern Waste, and neither in word nor in deed have you ever shown yourself unworthy the title. Bear this seal as always you have, in justice and in truth, upholding Aslan's laws and Narnia's." She took his hand and slipped his heavy seal ring again onto his finger. "Take your own back again, Duke Edmund, and may any foolish enough to seek to take it from you perish in the attempt."

She, too, kissed his forehead, gently caressing his cheek before she returned to her throne. Then Peter stood, his crown almost lost against the gold of his hair and his eyes bluer for the deep sapphire of his doublet and cloak. Before him he held the heavy silver crown that had been stripped from Edmund along with his titles what now seemed a very long time ago.

"Though you were made so at the unalterable word of the Great Lion Himself, we before all this company, before our kingdom and before all the worlds affirm that you, Edmund Pevensie, are the Just King of Narnia, and neither in word nor in deed have you ever shown yourself unworthy the title. Bear this crown as always you have, in honor, in wisdom and in strength." He set the glimmering silver on Edmund's head. "Take your own back again, King Edmund, and may any foolish enough to seek to take it from you perish in the attempt."

"My Liege Lord and most noble High King," Edmund said, beginning to stand, but Peter held up one hand, silencing him and signaling him to remain where he was.

Edmund glanced at his sisters and then again looked up at his brother. They hadn't discussed doing anything more than what had already taken place.

"As all Narnia now knows, these titles, Knight, Duke and King, were by ourself wrongly and most foolishly taken from you," Peter said, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes, "and it is no more than right that they should be restored. But, in saving not only our kingdom but our reason and our very life as well as the lives and honor of our noble sisters, it seems most meet that something more be done. Because, rather than leaving us to destruction in revenge of the wrongs done you, you risked your own life and traveled far into the wild to bring back the cure to the Snake's venom and otherwise delivered us and ours from ruin, you have, by your valor, wit, and strength at arms, by your own ability and by the grace of the Lion, earned the title and rank of Count of the Western March."

He nodded, and Susan and Lucy both stood. Lucy handed him a ring of fine gold set with emeralds, and Peter put it on Edmund's hand. Then Susan gave him a heavy chain, also of gold, the links an inch wide and two inches long, and Peter draped that around Edmund's shoulders. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Edmund's forehead.

"We bid you receive this same title from us along with our gratitude and deepest affection." Eyes warm, Peter clasped his shoulder with his left hand and laid his still-bandaged right hand on Edmund's head. "Edmund Pevensie, be known henceforth as Count of the Western March in this our realm."

"My Liege Lord–"

Edmund ducked his head, hardly able now to remember the words he had rehearsed over and over again, struggling to bear himself as a King and Knight and not an overemotional sap. He drew a hard breath and began again, this time a bit more steadily than before.

"My Liege Lord and most noble High King, here do I swear, with mind, heart and body, with all that I have and all that I am, fealty and service to you and to our noble Queens and to Narnia herself, to stand true to this Kingdom and to Aslan, the Great Lion who rules us all, upon my honor and without reservation until Your High Majesty departs his throne, death takes me, or the world ends, so say I."

Peter nodded, still with his hand on Edmund's dark hair. "We hear and shall never fail to remember. And for our part, we do swear fealty to you, Edmund Pevensie, to protect and defend you with all our power, to serve you as _our_ King, until we depart our throne, death takes us, or the world ends, so say we as High King of Narnia."

"And so say we as her Queens," the girls added together, "and before Aslan do swear."

There was a moment of expectant silence, and finally Edmund looked up, eyes questioning. His brother hadn't moved.

"One thing more." Swallowing down the sudden thickness in his voice, Peter brought Edmund to his feet. "Before all and above all, we do make declaration in the hearing of this company and to be known as well by all out of our hearing, whether in this world or any other, that we have wronged our trusty and well-beloved brother and King and here, in the presence of our subjects, we do ask his pardon."

Peter dropped to his knees, his golden head bowed, and Edmund's eyes brimmed with tears.

"Peter, you've already–"

"I disgraced you in public, Eddie." His words little more than a whisper, Peter refused to stand. "It's only fitting that I should apologize in public. Please forgive me."

Edmund nodded. For Peter's sake, it had to be done.

He put his hand on Peter's head. "Hear now, all you present here and be it known throughout all the lands, that any wrongs done to us or to any of our subjects are rightly to be charged against the false Knight, Gilfrey Becke, and his machinations. It is impossible that, of his own volition, our beloved brother and honored High King could do wrong to us or anyone. But, here before him and all this company, we swear we do freely and irrevocably forgive and forget any such wrongs he lays to his own charge. And we here beg that he forever forgive them himself." He turned Peter's tear-stained face up to him and looked into his eyes, adding softly, "Please, brother mine."

"It is well urged, High King."

At the rich, golden voice, there were low murmurs and gasps of surprise. All those in attendance knelt as from among them came the Great Lion. Edmund dropped to his knees beside his brother, and their sisters did the same on either side of them.

"Aslan." Peter bowed his head. "We are honored."

"I have come, Peter, to confirm all you have done here today and to commend you for doing it. It is a wise king who gives honor where honor is due." The Lion fixed his golden eyes on the High King. "And a wiser one who pays heed to good counsel."

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And you will do as your brother asks?"

Peter opened his mouth as if he would raise some objection, but then he only smiled a little sheepishly. "Yes, Aslan. I will."

"Now, High King, let Me see your hand."

Peter frowned and curled his bandaged hand against his chest, covering it with the other.

"Please, Aslan, I want to keep–"

He broke off at the Lion's stern look and, after removing the wrapping, he held out his hand, supporting it with the other. It was still healing, and the wounds across the palm and fingers, though closed, were still angrily red and no doubt painful. Edmund gave it a pitying glance and then looked pleadingly at Aslan.

The Lion inhaled and breathed sweet warmth over Peter's hand. At once, the redness and swelling vanished and all that was left were three faint scars.

"Is that reminder enough, Dear Son?"

Peter flexed his fingers and made a tight fist and then smiled. "Yes, Aslan. Thank you."

Edmund grinned at him and clasped his shoulder.

"Now, Susan," Aslan said, turning to the elder of the Queens, and she dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Yes, Aslan?"

"Dear Daughter, do you not know, in all of this, how long I waited for you to call on Me?"

Her head was still bowed, and now a tear slipped down her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Know, Child, that I will never, never leave you. I will always hear you when you call on Me."

Aslan nuzzled her face, drying her tears and breathing a different sort of warm healing upon her. A smile like springtime bloomed across her face, and she threw her arms around the Lion's neck. An instant later, her sister joined her.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come."

Aslan chuckled and turned to look into Lucy's bright eyes. "Are you, Dear One?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you, dearest Aslan, for watching after us."

"I am always watching after all of you, My Little Lioness. Should not you, too, be commended and rewarded for your bravery and faithfulness?"

"But I have been," Lucy insisted, and she took her brothers each by an arm. "You've brought us all back together again and set everything right. I don't know of anything else I could want."

Aslan pressed a Lion's kiss to her cheek and then turned to Edmund.

"And you, Beloved Son, you have had what was lost restored to you and with advantage. What more would you ask?"

Edmund bowed before him, remembering His words that night at Anvard,_ called, chosen, not rejected_, and remembering how He had been with him, with Lucy, and even with Peter and Susan though they hadn't always seen it. Every step of the way, He had been there. What more could he ask?

"Only your blessing on us and our kingdom."

And that He gave above what any of them could have thought to ask.

OOOOO

It was Christmas night. Lucy sat down before the library hearth and poured Mr. Tumnus another cup of tea, returning his fond smile.

"It seems, dear Queen, that I chose a very bad time to spend a year researching ancient Calormene texts." The Faun looked dismayed and sympathetic as Fauns are wont to do. "I might have been of some help to all of you in the dark days you've suffered."

"We missed you." She squeezed his hand. "_I _missed you. But Aslan was always with us."

"You know," Tumnus said as he took a sip of his tea, "you never did say how you were rescued when _The Dove _went down. But perhaps I know now anyway. Someone hailed me as I was coming off the ship from Calormen and asked me to return this to you."

He laid something next to her plate, glittering and razor edged, and she grinned as she snatched it up.

"My dagger! Oh, thank you. I thought it was lost."

The faun gave her a teasing grin. "And I'm to tell you, and I quote, 'The King of the Merfolk would be delighted to have a visit from the Queen Lucy at any time convenient. She need not wait until her ship is sinking.'"

She giggled. "As I told you, Aslan was always with us, taking care of us even when things looked awful, no matter what that Snake did."

Lucy thought one final time of Gilfrey Becke and how he had nearly killed them all and taken Narnia from them. She had at the beginning, like Susan, been grateful to him for what he had done for Peter in Ettinsmoor, but Edmund had been wary of him from their first meeting.

"How did you know?" she had asked him at the ball last night. "Why didn't he take you in as he had almost everyone else?"

Edmund had clasped both her hands and kissed her cheek under the mistletoe. "He had no music in him, Lu. 'The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.'" He had spun her around and pulled her into the throng of dancers. "'Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.'"

Giggling, she whirled with him around the room. "Goose. He never said anything about music or whether or not he liked it."

"I know. But he was only fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils, so obviously he had no music in him."

She raised one eyebrow at him. "Sooooo . . . you knew you couldn't trust him because he had no music in him, and you knew he had no music in him because you couldn't trust him?"

He had smirked at her, dark eyes twinkling. "Exactly."

"You know, that doesn't really explain–"

"Just dance, Lu."

Like everything else, she could only set it down to Aslan's leading. Without it, they and Narnia would have been lost.

She glanced over at her sister sitting on the floor before the fire with her back against the settee. There were red and green ribbons woven through her black tresses and her voluminous white-velvet skirts were spread around her. Their brothers both lay sprawled on the floor with her. Peter's head was propped against her leg. Edmund's head was in her lap, but he was turned on his side, so he was leaning against Peter's shoulder, too. They were both soundly asleep. Susan merely stared into the fire in dreamy contentment, one hand resting against Edmund's cheek, the other toying with Peter's hair. None of them could ask any more of Christmas than this. Christmas at last. Christmas together. Christmas at home.

And Lucy smiled.

THE END

*****SPECIAL NOTE*****

**narniagirl11 made a marvelous trailer for this story at:**

**www .youtube. com (slash) watch?v=zw4jXOGtEmE**

**AND**

**Ariyah (Ariel_of_Narnia) made another one at:**

**www .youtube. com (slash) watch?v=-TUOOipJP1o**

**They're both wonderful! Do watch them and let me know what you think.**

**(Don't forget to remove spaces and use an actual slash instead of the (slash).)**

**Author's Note: **

**Edmund's quote about a man with no music in him is from Shakespeare's **_**The Merchant of Venice**_**. Thanks to OldFashionedGirl95 for the idea of Edmund being given a new title due to his heroics in this story.**

**To OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews who have been tremendous help at every step along the way and to all of you who have faithfully read and reviewed each chapter I posted, what can I say but thanks and thanks and ever thanks? This has been a longer and more involved journey that I set out to make, but it's been a fun one and one I feel has helped me grow as a writer. Blessings on all of you!**

**PLEASE NOTE: My stories "Amity" and Clarity" are companion pieces to "Counted Among the Traitors" and give a little more information about some of the things that happened in this story. If you enjoyed this one, you may like those as well.**

–**WD**

**P. S. And a belated but VERY happy birthday to Foreverchanged. I'm sorry I couldn't get this posted on June 18****th****, but consider this a little gift for you. **


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